


Fighting the Tide

by yarnandtea



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Sebrill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnandtea/pseuds/yarnandtea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you start to realize you have feelings for someone utterly inappropriate? If you're Merrill or Sebastian, you bury those feelings deep and try to forget they're even there. </p>
<p>Of course, that can only work for so long--especially once Isabela decides to get involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Ages ago, there was a discussion on tumblr about Isabela playing matchmaker for her friends in Kirkwall, and the idea stuck in my head. So, here is the result of my thoughts on the matter.
> 
> Many thanks to jillyfae for all of her Sebrill encouragement! Thanks also to spiritofemby for agreeing to beta this mess! You guys are awesome.

Isabela hummed to herself as she made her way to the galleries overlooking the Chantry courtyard, hoping she hadn’t missed the display. She was running a little behind schedule today after getting caught up in the delivery of new furnishings for her cabin on the _Siren’s Call II_. A small shiver of glee ran through her at the thought of her ship. _Her_ ship, at last. It was almost ready, too. She just needed a crew and perhaps a cargo, then she could leave behind the City of Chains for the freedom of the seas. But that could wait. For now, she had more pressing diversions on her mind. A soft grunt, then the distinctive sound of an arrow hitting a target drifted to her from around the corner and she grinned. It sounded as if she was right on time for the show. She sped up, rounding the corner in anticipation of the delicious spectacle that was Sebastian Vael’s daily archery practice. She made it three steps into the gallery before she stopped short in surprise.

Someone else was there already.

It seemed that she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed watching Sebastian’s practices. Her annoyance quickly gave way to amusement as she recognized the form leaning against the low stone wall. A fond smile played across her face and she had to bite back a laugh as Merrill leaned forward slightly, clearly trying to get a better look at the scene below. Isabela stepped lightly forward, moving up beside her friend unnoticed. Realizing that Merrill had taken no notice of her at all, Isabela flicked her eyes sideways at the other woman, drawing breath to speak. The words died in her throat at what she saw. She leaned back against a column, Sebastian momentarily forgotten as she looked at Merrill more closely.

The wide green eyes stared down into the courtyard with singular focus. It was a warm day, and Sebastian had dispensed of both his armor and his shirt. Merrill watched intently as he drew his bow, preparing for another shot, breathing in as Sebastian did the same below them. Merrill watched raptly as the muscles in his back flexed, barely moving, holding her breath, waiting. The look on her face was like nothing Isabela had ever seen there before. Reverence was the first thought to come to her mind, and of a height that Isabela had only ever seen directed at that thrice-damned mirror. But reverence overshadowed by the appreciation and _delight_ that painted her face. It was a darker delight, unlike what she was used to from Merrill, such as when the elven woman came across a kitten, or a new and tasty cheese, or begged Varric for just one more of his stories. No, this was more carnal, and nothing Isabela would have ever expected from Merrill, if she was being honest with herself. It was _hunger_. Isabela’s lips quirked up in a sultry smile, delight coursing through her as well, now that she had discovered such a tasty secret.

Merrill wanted Sebastian. Fiercely. Who would have thought it?

Isabela was impressed with her friend. She wouldn’t have believed the other woman had enough guile to keep something like that hidden. At least not from _her_. But, she supposed, that was probably the point. She could think of a million reasons why Merrill wouldn’t want anyone to know about such feelings. Not even Isabela. Still, she knew now. She turned her attention back to the courtyard and watched as Sebastian let loose his next arrow. It flew home, sinking into the center of the makeshift target he had set up. He was quite a sight, and when he practiced his archery, he seemed so much lighter to Isabela. It was as if his focus on honing that one skill allowed him to let go of all of the worries and obligations and troublesome _duties_ that weighed him down the rest of the time. Here, he was unguarded, at peace with himself. Just Sebastian for that brief hour of every day. It was unbearably sexy, in Isabela’s opinion, and one of the reasons she enjoyed sneaking in to watch the sessions. It seemed that Merrill agreed. Beside Isabela, she gave a soft sigh, and Isabela glanced back at her in time to catch the quick downward flick of Merrill’s eyes, startling a laugh and an oath out of Isabela.

"Andraste's dimpled ass cheeks!"

"What?!?" Merrill jumped and spun around, blinking in clear confusion at finding Isabela next to her.

"You were ogling him!" Even as she replied, she saw the mask slam back into place over Merrill’s face. Once more, the sweet and aloof elf stood in front of her.

"Don't be silly Isabela, I was merely admiring the view--"

"Of Sebastian's finely rounded ass, yes. I saw you, Kitten."

Merrill made a small squeaking sound and covered her face with her hands. That couldn't hide her embarrassment, however, as her whole face had flushed a bright red, right to the tips of her slender ears. A slow grin spread over Isabela's face. Embarrassment at getting caught, she was sure, rather than about what she had been doing. Still, the rapid shift from Merrill’s open admiration and desire to her usual flustered demeanor told Isabela that perhaps it was best not to press her about it just yet.

"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of, Kitten," she tried, allowing just the hint of amusement to color her tone. "It happens to be one of my favorite views too, you know."

Merrill slowly lowered her hands and shot Isabela a sheepish grin.

"He is rather pretty, isn't he? Only, don't tell him I said so, Isabela. I think it might embarrass him."

“Hmm.” Isabela wasn’t so sure about that. She flicked her eyes back down to the courtyard and pursed her lips. What _would_ he think about Merrill’s attention? She couldn’t help but wonder. Merrill was still watching her, waiting, biting her lip. Isabela sighed and shot her a reassuring smile. She reached out and squeezed Merrill’s upper arm gently. "Your secret is safe with me. Come on, the wind has changed. He's moving to the other side of the yard. We can get a better view from over there."

"Oooh, can we?"

Isabela laughed lightly and led Merrill along to their next vantage point.

~~~~

Merrill never brought up the incident, and Isabela didn’t see her in the Chantry galleries again. But Isabela couldn’t stop thinking about it. Before, she would have thought very little about catching Merrill shooting an admiring glance or two Sebastian’s way. Now though, she couldn’t help but wonder how deep it really ran. Did Merrill just like looking? Was it simple appreciation? Or actual desire? Isabela suspected, after what she had seen that day in the galleries, that it was, in fact, actual desire for Sebastian. She was surprised at how much it troubled her. It was none of her business, after all. Merrill was a grown woman, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Nor would Sebastian do anything to intentionally hurt Merrill, if he became aware of her feelings, Isabela was sure. That was assuming, of course, that Merrill’s feelings were anything more than lust.

No, it was what Sebastian might do unintentionally that worried Isabela.

So she began watching the two of them together, trying to gauge from their interactions whether she was worried about nothing or not. Did she perhaps need to step in and help redirect Merrill’s wants to a less disastrous target? Or should she, perhaps, intervene in the other direction?

Now there was a thought.

Might Sebastian be susceptible to Merrill’s charms as well?

If she hadn’t begun looking so closely, she might have missed it. But it didn’t take her long to draw the conclusion that Merrill’s interest was anything but one-sided. Sebastian was at times overly formal in his interactions with her, as if he was trying to show her respect and keep his distance at the same time. In less guarded moments, though, he spoke with Merrill more openly than Isabela had seen him be with anyone but herself. He clearly liked her, and from one or two glances Isabela had caught, she knew he appreciated Merrill’s lithe form and grace more than he was likely to admit. The way his eyes lit up whenever he ran into her unexpectedly was quite telling, Isabela thought. She was surprised no one else had noticed it.

There had been a sadness to Merrill ever since she had confronted Marethari and then her clan. Isabela found it perfectly understandable that Merrill grieved over how things had turned out, and her subsequent loneliness was hardly a shock. If she was looking to take someone to her bed to ease that pain, Isabela was quite in favor of the idea. Maker knew she thought Sebastian could do with being laid as well. Although she didn’t think he was as likely to jump into anyone’s bed without there being feelings involved. Once, maybe, but not anymore. But the more she watched them, and the more she thought on the matter, the more convinced she became that there _was_ something there. It was such an outlandish proposition though, that she knew neither one of them would ever come to it on their own. The Chantry brother and the blood mage. The human prince and the Dalish outcast. It was like something out of the stories she and Varric liked to concoct. Two people who had no business being together engaging in a torrid affair, defying all expectations and having fantastic sex.

A good story, certainly, but even Isabela knew that life hardly worked out like her stories. That was, after all, why she wrote them.

Still. Beyond all of the titles, beyond the roles that both clung to so fiercely, they were just Merrill and Sebastian. Lonely and lost and trying to figure out where they fit, the both of them. Maybe they fit together. They just needed someone to help them realize it.

Who was Isabela, to turn down such an irresistible challenge?

~~~~

Resolved to find a way to bring the two together, Isabela sat down to begin making plans. She would have to be careful about it, she decided. Subtle. It wouldn’t do for anyone to realize what she was about. Merrill would be embarrassed, at best, and Sebastian would make protests about his vows and his duty. Not to mention that there was Varric to take into consideration, and Hawke. Isabela might be protective of Merrill, but those two were far worse, appointing themselves as the woman’s caretakers. As if she needed any such thing. Well. Sometimes Merrill _did_ need reminders to eat, or to be dragged out of her house for some fresh air and company. But she usually came around on her own. Eventually. She hardly required the kind of intervention Varric and Hawke tended toward. If they realized what Isabela was up to, they were far more likely to think her intentions mischievous, rather than believe she was truly trying to play matchmaker. After all, Isabela had always been quite vocal about not needing anyone for more than a good tumble. What could she possibly know about matters of the heart?

She paused in her scheming, huffing in annoyance. Just because she didn’t want a romantic partner didn’t mean she thought no one else needed them either. Love might not be for her, but she suspected that Merrill and Sebastian were both the sort to need it. What harm could there be in helping her friends find it together? She was positive the interest was there on both sides. It was just a matter of getting them to admit it to each other. Possibly to themselves, first, though. Isabela sighed and pushed the thoughts away, turning back to the matter at hand. She’d have to be careful of Fenris, as well. He might not object to Isabela wanting to find Sebastian a match, but he would certainly take exception to her choice for his friend. She sighed again. _Is it any wonder they are both keeping their admiration hidden from each other? Not only have they got their entire upbringings telling them they wouldn’t work together, but all of their friends keep getting in the way as well._ “Not this friend, though,” she muttered, sitting up straight in her chair. At least Aveline and Anders were unlikely to care one way or the other.

The most expedient way of getting them together would be to ensure they spent as much time together as possible. Isabela could easily convince Merrill to visit the Hanged Man more often. The trouble was getting Sebastian there as well. Perhaps if she mentioned to Fenris that she worried he was spending too much time alone in the Chantry, he might do that part of the job for her. It wasn’t a lie, after all. That man spent far too much time in his own head, as far as she was concerned. All of his prayers clearly weren’t providing him with the guidance he sought. What he _needed_ was a distraction. She smiled at the thought of the distraction she intended to provide for him. So, assuming she could get Fenris’ unwitting cooperation, that got both Merrill and Sebastian to the Hanged Man. Easy enough to seat them near each other, or in direct view of each other, and then she just had to get them talking. She frowned slightly. There wasn’t much chance of them being alone together at the Hanged Man, though. A thought occurred to her and she smiled again. Sebastian was a noble sort of fellow. Surely he’d offer to walk Merrill back to her house when it was time for everyone to go home, if the idea was planted carefully in his mind.

“So, that gets them used to relaxing around each other, I hope,” she mused. She idly ran ran her fingers over the flame of the candle upon the table, bringing them close enough to feel the heat without being burned. “It wouldn’t hurt to let them see how well they work together, too.”

She tapped her chin in thought, lips pursed. Anders had been working himself to the bone lately, in between his clinic, his manifesto, and accompanying Hawke on her various outings. Surely he could use a bit of a break? And Hawke _had_ been awfully worried about Merrill spending too much time by herself lately. It shouldn’t be too difficult to help Hawke come to the conclusion that she could start bringing Merrill along instead of Anders for a while. If she could drum up some sort of business to keep Varric occupied, then Hawke would certainly ask Sebastian to join her as well. She liked to have an archer on hand. That only left making sure Hawke brought Isabela along as well. Isabela scoffed. _That_ was the easy part. She grinned widely and her eyes slid shut. Humming to herself, she leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the table. She was rather satisfied with her plans to set the stage for her little show. It was almost like writing one of her stories on a grander scale, really. Only much more entertaining, because the outcome was far more unpredictable.

Of course, once the players were all in place, that was when the real work would begin.


	2. Temptation Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian wishes he could get Merrill out of his mind. But with Isabela "helping" there's really no chance of that, is there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay between updates! Had a bit of a writing funk, so it took me longer to finish that I had planned. I think I'm back on track now though. Hopefully you'll find this chapter worth the wait!
> 
> Sorry Sebastian is so angsty. He wasn't meant to be, but these two are utterly refusing to be fluffy this time out. On the other hand, he is working out some stuff that he really does need to work out, so I think it works, and I hope you'll agree!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, spiritofemby! Any leftover weirdness is all me!
> 
> Also, for those who like warnings on this sort of thing, the implied background ships are Isabela/Fenris and FemHawke/Anders.

Sebastian knew Isabela was up to something. He just couldn’t figure out what, exactly, it was. Certainly he wasn’t surprised by her attempts to embarrass him, or to call attention to all of the worldly pleasures he was missing as a brother of the Chantry. But he could not fathom why in Andraste’s name the woman felt the need to bring _Merrill_ into her games. Boredom, maybe? She was certainly the type to get up to mischief when bored. He just wished she'd leave him out of it. Merrill too. It wasn't fair to either of them.

He sighed softly, closing the door to his room and leaning back against it after a long day of Chantry work. His eyes fell shut and he breathed deeply for a few moments. If he had thought Merrill the type to be amused by his unease whenever Isabela started up, he would guess Isabela was simply trying to cheer her up. Could forgive it, even. It tore at his heart to see how much of Merrill’s spark had dimmed since her last visit to Sundermount. And though he could not help but thank the Maker that her attempts to repair the mirror had failed, nor could he help but wish she had something more to show for all that she had lost. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts of the lost clan of Dalish. Already, memories of his own family were flooding his mind, calling up the sorrow of his own losses. No, he could never blame Isabela trying to bring back some of Merrill’s good cheer. He knew all too well what it was like to be the only one left standing.

If only he could believe that was all there was to Isabela’s scheming.

Sebastian sighed again and opened his eyes, moving across the room to light the candle on his bedside table. He sat down and crossed his hands over his knees, eyes focusing on the flame as he cleared his mind, schooling his face into the bland, pleasant mask he had grown so used to wearing since joining the Chantry. Calm and clear-headed once more, he opened his eyes and stood, already undoing his robes. It would not do to let his irritation show, after all, when he saw Isabela tonight at the Hanged Man. In all likelihood, such a display of emotion would only spur her on. Perhaps she had a bet with someone that she could get some sort of reaction out of him? Varric, perhaps, or possibly Hawke. Although he was less inclined to believe it of Varric than of Hawke. He considered this possibility while he donned his armor, pushing down the small pang at the thought of his father while he did so.

No, he decided, eventually dismissing the idea. Even Isabela would not be wagering on something that might embarrass Merrill as well as Sebastian. He would believe many things of her, but not that. Of course, that left him with his original conundrum. What was that blasted woman up to? For weeks now, she had contrived to get him near Merrill at every available opportunity. She engaged the both of them in conversation that _neither_ of them were fully comfortable with, and then wandered off, leaving them staring at each other in awkward, and often confused, silence. She’d somehow manage to organize the seating at Varric’s table so that he and Merrill would find themselves next to each other, practically pressed together in most cases. She’d bring up stories of her sexual exploits, asking Sebastian to compare his own experiences, and offering only a knowing laugh and wink at Merrill when he would decline as politely as possible. Often she used terminology that Merrill was not familiar with when speaking of such things, no doubt hoping for Merrill’s curious request of an explanation. Half the time, Isabela would pointedly look to Sebastian to give said explanation, and Merrill would turn those intent green eyes on him expectantly.

Those were the more overt tactics, but they were only a small part of her game. It seemed to him that she was going out of her way to be subtle, most of the time. Well, subtle for Isabela, at least, and it was largely this that had him dismissing the thought of Isabela’s game being part of a wager with someone else. She would want her partner to notice her progress, after all. But, he considered as he finished dressing and left his room again, so much of her actions were small, quiet things. A stray comment about the glow of Merrill’s skin, or how gracefully she moved. Comparisons of the color of her eyes to various items of undisputed beauty. As if Sebastian was unaware of these facts. As if he did not try to actively avoid thinking such things. Once or twice, he’d looked up from his hand of cards or conversation with someone else to find himself the subject of Merrill’s assessing gaze, Isabela whispering in her ear, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she was saying about _him_. Then, also, were the soft touches here and there, first Merrill, then Sebastian, as if she wanted to move the two of them along the line of thought to touching each other. Even the maneuvering them to be near each other or the awkward conversations were handled in a way that did not draw the others’ attention. Whatever she was up to, Isabela meant this for Sebastian and Merrill alone.

Sebastian halted mid-step, foot hanging in the air as comprehension dawned. She couldn’t. He had to be wrong. Isabela just could not really think that she had any chance of…slowly, he lowered his foot. _She bloody well IS._ He shook his head, as if the denial would prove his suspicions wrong. _What in Andraste’s name is she thinking? Damn you, Isabela, what has possessed you to meddle so?_ His face flamed red and anger welled up inside of him. At Isabela for her presumption. At himself, for not realizing it sooner. At life, for being what it was. He let out a frustrated sigh and fought the urge to sit down in a huff on the stairs. Instead, he drew a deep, steadying breath and forced himself to continue walking. He wanted nothing so much as to beg off joining the group for the planned evening of cards and drinks, but he had promised Fenris he would be there, and he did not like to break his word.

He hesitated at the door, realizing that it was at Fenris’ behest, not Isabela’s, that he had so often joined the others at the Hanged Man of late. For the briefest moment he wondered if Fenris could be part of Isabela’s scheme. The suspicion disappeared as quickly as it had formed. Fenris had no affection for Merrill whatsoever— _He’s smarter than me, then, isn’t he?_ —and he would never agree to help Isabela to—what? What was it that she actually hoped for? To trick them into bedding each other? To actually make a match? Perhaps there was no trick meant, he admitted to himself. Isabela had a generally positive view of sex, after all. It was more than conceivable she simply believed that he and Merrill could find some pleasure in each other. He frowned slightly. Although she was going to extraordinary lengths to try to make such an unlikely event occur. Fenris would never agree to help with such a plan, but Sebastian had no doubt at all that Isabela had roped him into it unawares anyway.

A small part of him stirred in panic. _Does she know? Has she seen—?_ He quashed the voice before it could complete the thought. It didn’t matter. She was wasting her time, and theirs as well. He sighed slowly, pushing open the door and stepping out into the night. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to keep his composure when he saw her, but he must. An outburst would only encourage her, and that would do no one any good. No, he must find a way to reason with her, to convince her to stop this before someone— _Merrill_ —ended up getting hurt. Surely there must be some way to appeal to her. He thought on the matter during his walk to the Hanged Man but was no closer to a solution when he arrived than he had been before. As he entered the tavern, he braced himself, hoping against hope that at least now that he knew what she was doing, he could avoid playing into Isabela’s hands.

~~~~

“Sebastian! Isabela saved you a seat!”

He repressed a groan and forced himself to smile at Merrill as she waved and gestured to the very small space between herself and Isabela. He glanced around Varric’s main room but it was no use. He was the last to arrive and it was, indeed, the last seat available. “Of course,” he said, making his way to the spot. He met Isabela’s eyes and she dropped a wink at him before leaning into Fenris just enough to allow Sebastian to slide into place. Then, like a flash, she leaned the other way, pressing into him. He could feel the warmth of her, all curves and muscle and very little covering, even through his leathers and mail.

“Oh!” Merrill breathed. “Cozy, isn’t it?” She shifted on the bench to avoid falling off, scooting closer to Sebastian as well.

This brought forth a round of laughter from the table and Sebastian cleared his throat, his face on fire as me murmured a soft “sorry” and leaned back so he didn’t accidentally shoulder Merrill to the floor. She made a soothing sound in her throat and patted him on the arm, smiling to let him know she didn’t mind. Sebastian’s breath caught as he looked down into her eyes and he could have sworn he felt Isabela _purr_ beside him. Damn her. Merrill might not have the curves that Isabela possessed, but she was no less soft pressed against him. No less tempting. Even more so, perhaps. He could admit that to himself at least. To lie to oneself was the most unforgivable sin, wasn’t it? Merrill was lithe, taught muscle coiled with energy, just waiting to be released. Her touch seared. He cleared his throat again and turned his eyes to Varric, cocking a brow. “Is it just me or does there seem to be less seating in here each time we meet?”

Varric just shrugged and held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “Hey, I’m still waiting on the bench that Broody and Blondie broke two weeks ago to be repaired.” Anders rolled his eyes and Fenris grunted, shooting a glare in the mage’s direction at the mention of the fight that had gotten out of hand. Varric ignored them, continuing, “And you remember what happened to the stools _last_ week.” He shot a glance at Hawke, somehow managing to look mournful and amused at the same time.

“Hey!” Hawke protested. “That wasn’t my fault! You’re the one who wanted Aveline to demonstrate how Spiral trains with the guard!” At his name, the mabari in the corner perked up and issued a happy bark. Hawke gave him a fond smile, turning wide eyes back to Varric. “The stools made very convincing criminals.”

Sebastian sighed and Varric shrugged again. “See, Choir Boy? Perils of having such dangerous friends. Not even the furniture is safe. I mean, I _could_ drag up a few benches from downstairs,” the expression of distaste on his face showed exactly what he thought of that idea, “but the stench is bad enough without bringing some of it closer, don’t you think?”

“Besides!” Isabela flung her arms around Sebastian and Fenris, squeezing them both. “We’re all friends here, no harm in getting a little close, hmm?”

“Speak for yourself,” Anders muttered. He shot equal glares at Fenris, Sebastian, and Merrill. Sebastian fought the urge to narrow his eyes and glare back.

“Oh, I like it!” Merrill quipped, leaning lightly into Sebastian and making him forget his annoyance entirely. “It reminds me of when I was young. Whenever there were thunderstorms everyone would have to pile into the aravels until the rain passed. They’re not much bigger than this room,” she mused, looking around, “and we didn’t have that many.”

She sighed wistfully, and Sebastian tried to think of something to distract her from the sad thought. Hawke and Varric appeared to be doing the same, but Isabela beat them all to it. “I imagine there wasn’t much privacy,” she commented, “with so many people crammed into such a small space.”

“Oh, Creators, no!” Merrill laughed, shaking her head with a smile. “You could hear everything anyone said or did all night.”

“ _Everything?_ ” Isabela asked, leaning over Sebastian.

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. His eyes flew open again when Merrill giggled beside him, and he turned to find her eyes glittering with laughter.

“Oh yes,” she said nodding solemnly.

Isabela grinned, clearly delighted with this new piece of information about Dalish life, and the two continued to talk about aravels while the rest of the group fell into their own conversations. Sebastian held his breath, waiting for her to sit up again. It wasn’t just that she was pressed even closer to him than she had been—Isabela was a very physical person, and she knew he wasn’t going to take advantage, so she seemed to feel at ease to _touch_ with him. He was quite used to that by now, and _almost_ immune to it—no, the trouble came with the fact that she was pressing him more firmly against Merrill, who was in turn leaning into him to avoid sliding off the bench. If Isabela kept this up, Merrill would be sitting in his lap soon, and that was bound to end in disaster. As it was, he had his arm wrapped firmly around her waist to keep her from falling. The warmth of her, even through their mail, was staggering, and he found himself very much wishing they were alone. _Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked_ *, he thought to himself, breathing in relief when Varric called the game to order and Isabela moved away to deal out the cards.

He avoided meeting her eyes as much as he could for the rest of the evening, but Isabela did her best to make it difficult. He felt taut as a bowstring by the night’s end. When Merrill stood to leave, Sebastian wondered if he would be able to resist when Isabela suggested he walk Merrill home, as she did at the end of almost every gathering these days. Hawke saved him from finding out, however, when she and Spiral decided to leave at the same time and she volunteered for the task before Isabela could speak up. Sebastian knew he did not imagine the disappointed pout that flashed across Isabela’s face at the missed opportunity. He drew a deep breath, meaning to pull her aside. _I must convince her to end this game_ , he told himself. But Varric asked him a question and when he turned back, Isabela was slipping out of the room, Fenris in tow. Sebastian sighed to himself.

_Tomorrow_ , he resolved. _I will speak to her about this foolishness tomorrow._

~~~~

Sebastian moaned as nimble fingers worked their way under the hem of his nightshirt, arching his hips in greed, leaving no doubt as to where he wanted them to land. A soft giggle reached his ears, sweet and seductive, as delicious as honey. The fingers reached his cock, a light touch tracing his length, drawing shivers. He bucked when something wet and warm touched him. Her tongue, he realized as she licked a wide stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip, sucking on the head briefly before pulling back. She giggled again and he groaned, wishing she wouldn’t tease him so. “Maker, Merrill,” he breathed, “ _please._ ”

“You are so pretty when you beg,” she whispered, and he could hear the satisfaction in her voice.

He indulged her further. “Please!” he cried again. “I need you! So badly, you’ve no idea—”

“Hush, now, _lethallin_ ,” she murmured, and he whimpered in relief as he felt her move up his body. “You shall have me.” With that, she leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest and settling over him, taking him deep inside of her. They cried out together as their bodies joined, and Sebastian raised his hands to grasp hers—so small and delicate but with so much strength in them—as he arched his back. She rolled her hips and they moved together, a frenzied flurry that did not last long, their voices mingling as they sought their pleasure from one another.

Merrill hummed after they had finished, leaning forward again and kissing him lightly on the lips. “You are so pretty,” she whispered again as she pulled back, “and mine.” The sweet smile on her lips at once contrasting and confirming the confidence in her voice.

“Yes,” Sebastian breathed, closing his eyes and turning his face, lifting her hand in his so he could kiss the back of it. “Yours. Always.”

~~~~

He woke with a jolt, blue eyes wide in the pale light of the room, his ragged breathing the only sound in the small space. He could feel the sticky wetness cooling on his stomach and he sighed, throwing back the blanket. He sat up and yanked off his nightshirt in one smooth motion, grimacing at the smell of his seed and sweat that lingered in the air. He cleaned himself as best he could with the soiled shirt and then rose, moving to the basin on the table to wash it. On his way he opened the small window of his room, letting in the fresh air and cool chill of the approaching dawn. It refreshed him somewhat, and he took a few deep steadying breaths, losing himself in his thoughts as he cleaned his nightshirt and began preparing for the day.

Such dreams were natural enough, he knew that, and Sebastian had woken from such many times over the last several years. Plenty of men and women had visited him so in his sleep, many of them more than once. But over the past year there had been a change, and as much as he was loath to admit it, he could not recall the last time his dreams had involved anyone other than Merrill. They had been occurring with even more frequency in the past few weeks. And so intense, these dreams! More detail, more need. _More mess_ , he added with a wry glance at the shirt now hanging to dry. If he had not personally seen a desire demon with his own eyes, resisted its temptations with his own will, he would think these dreams were a demon intent on plaguing him from the Fade. But as it was, he knew full well what was behind the recurring dreams and their alarming intensity.

_Maker help me, but I wish I didn’t._

Perhaps it would have happened even without Isabela’s interference, he mused. It was not her doing that he felt the way he did, after all. _Only that I can no longer pretend otherwise_ , he thought with a frown. But no, that wasn’t fair. He chastised himself for trying to shift the blame away from his own shoulders. He had been drawn to Merrill from his first sight of her. Long before his first meeting with Hawke, he’d seen Merrill in the marketplace and been instantly enchanted by her grace and the kindness on her face, by the utter seriousness with which she examined the bunch of fruit she had been purchasing. He had seen the strength hidden in her lithe form, and his eyes traced the movement of her hands in the air as she spoke to the vendor. The ink on her face marked her clearly as Dalish, and Sebastian found himself intrigued. He’d never actually seen any Dalish before, but he’d heard stories. Even from a distance, she seemed so…open. Nothing like what he would have expected. He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring until he moved to follow her as she left. A simple enough matter to put behind him, to forget, he had thought. The pleasures of the flesh might be forbidden to him, but appreciation of beauty was not.

Then he’d met Hawke and she had introduced him to the rest of her friends, and there had been Merrill. Still he could have laughed it off, let it be an embarrassing coincidence, one he could keep to himself for his own amusement. Until he had learned she was an apostate. Not just an apostate, either. No, she had to be a blood mage. He shook his head, remembering, and sank down upon his bed once more, elbows on his knees. Released from his vows or not, he was still a brother of the Chantry. It was his duty to turn her over to the Templars. It was the _law_. But he had known from the first instant he had learned what she was that he would never do any such thing. It troubled him, that certainty.

He had asked Fenris, once, about his thoughts on the matter. The man was quite vocal in his belief that all mages belonged in the Circle or dead, yet he had made no move to turn Merrill in. Sebastian had come to realize that it was loyalty to Hawke, _trust_ in Hawke, that stayed Fenris’ hand. But what was it that stayed his own? Obligation to Hawke, perhaps, for her help with stopping Lady Harimann? That was part of it. In the case of Anders, that was most of it, he knew. That and the fact that the Knight Commander herself was fully aware of Anders’ existence and relationship with Hawke, yet made no move to apprehend him. Who was Sebastian to step in where Meredith wouldn’t?

But Merrill…no, it wasn’t faith in Hawke or Meredith’s willful blind eye that stayed him there, and he knew it full well. It was Merrill herself. By all rights, the moment she had moved into the Alienage, she had given herself over to Chantry laws—to man’s laws. The protection of being Dalish no longer applied. And yet, despite her separation from her clan, despite the many years she had lived in Kirkwall, she was still so obviously Dalish that Sebastian could not even begin to imagine the laws of man having any hold over her whatsoever. Many elves who left the clans to come live in the cities ended up embracing the Chant, or at least converting on the surface. He knew Merrill never would. A “nice story,” she had called it, but one with “some holes.”

He had laughed at that.

He thought perhaps he should feel guilty about doing so. Just as he should feel guilty for not turning her in, for not attempting to bring her over to the faith of her new home. But he didn’t. Knew he wouldn’t. Maybe _couldn’t_. And it was that which disturbed him most of all. Merrill was dangerous, and Sebastian knew it well. Not just because she was a mage and free, not just because she had no qualms about using blood magic. No, she was dangerous because she made him question his faith. Not in the Maker, no, never that, he thought. That faith had always been there, planted deeply in him by his grandfather, and unshakable. But his faith in the Chantry? In the belief that devotion to Andraste was how he was meant to spend the rest of his life? Oh yes, that faith—so hard earned and, he had thought, just as unshakable— _that_ faith, she made him doubt. Just a few conversations with her and he was left with gnawing uncertainty that he really wanted this life he had finally come to accept.

Merrill was dangerous because she proved Sebastian’s own worst fears about himself to be true.

He had tried to keep her at arms’ length for so long—avoiding her when he could, keeping a distance between them when he could not. But it had always been difficult. Uncertainty she might bring him, but she also left him burning with curiosity. Beyond his base desires, he felt a true affection for her. She was so much more than people saw—than she let them see. But she did not try so hard to hide herself from Sebastian, and that drew him in no matter how much he tried to stay away.

Not so bad when they only saw one another once or twice a month. Stolen moments of joy to look forward to, to hold and to treasure afterward. The doubt could be brushed aside easily enough after each encounter, and he could rest easy knowing that it would not come again anytime soon. But now? With Isabela contriving to put the two of them together as much as possible? Sebastian could not deny anything. Not to himself, and how long before others began to notice? Clearly Isabela had, or she would not have begun this mad game in the first place. His only reassurance was the knowledge that Merrill did not feel the same, and that she was as yet unaware of what her friend was up to. But he could not believe she would remain blind much longer. What might he see in those beautiful green eyes when realization finally dawned? He was not sure he wanted to find out.

No, he resolved, standing up once more and clenching his fists at his sides. He must put a stop to this. Now. He _would_ speak to Isabela, and he would make her see that her game could only end in disaster. It would work. It would have to.

~~~~

But a week passed, and still he had not found the opportunity. _Perhaps_ , he thought to himself with wry reproach, _because I keep hoping she’ll give me one, rather than trying to make one myself._ He kicked at a stone as the party worked their way along the Wounded Coast, returning from escorting a late merchant to the rest of his caravan. It occurred to him that Hawke had been asking him to accompany her more regularly of late, and Merrill was always there. Isabela too. _Surely she can’t be making_ that _happen_ , he thought. He shook his head and snorted. Of course she could. She was Isabela. He glanced up at the schemer in question, walking arm in arm with Merrill, waving at the nearby sea and recalling some tale of her pirating adventures.

Merrill burst into a fit of giggles as Isabela finished up part of her story. “Ooh, and then what happened, _lethallan_?”

Sebastian started, the Dalish endearment calling his dreams vividly back to mind. He fought to control the heat in his face, glad he was at the back of the party and hoping no one had seen. He didn’t even know what the word meant, only that Merrill only used it with those she was closest to. Hawke. Varric. Isabela. Never Sebastian though, and he supposed that was why she always said it in his dreams. He had no one like that in his life, after all, and he could honestly say he never really had. People he had cared about, maybe, and perhaps who cared about him, but never anyone he was truly close to. Even now, who did he have? There was Elthina, he supposed. Although she was far more a mother to him than a friend, and they had grown ever more distant since he learned about his family, and since he had taken up with Hawke. He and Fenris got along well enough, but their friendship was based on a mutual respect for each other’s privacy and an unspoken agreement to not talk about anything of personal consequence. In fact, he realized with another start, if he was being truly honest, his closest friend was Isabela.

_That can’t possibly be right._ But it was. Out of all of the companions that Hawke had introduced him to, Isabela was the one he was most at ease with. More than once he had stayed up late into the night sharing a bottle with her and playing cards or talking. Because he _could_ talk to her, and she to him. She might flirt shamelessly and sit too close, but she would make no attempt to draw him to her bed unless he indicated that he wanted her too. Likewise, she knew that he would make no attempt to lecture her on the wickedness of her ways or urge her to the Chantry unless she indicated an actual interest in what he might have to say on the topic. They were comfortable together because they knew where their boundaries lay and respected them, Respected the _choices_ each had made—and what they’d done in the situations where they’d been given no choice. She might tease him about how boring it must be for him as a Chantry brother, but she didn’t judge him for being one. Nor did she care that he had been a prince once, or could be _the_ ruling prince of Starkhaven if he actually made up his mind to try to retake his throne. In fact, he thought that she was the only one who might actually understand why he still couldn’t decide on a path. She, more than any of his companions—Hawke included—seemed to understand him. It was what made this current scheming of hers so frustrating, he thought. He had believed that she understood his reasons for denying himself physical pleasures, for avoiding the complications of romance. So why did she seem so determined to pair him with Merrill? What did she see that he couldn’t?

He was trailing behind the group, turning the puzzle over in his mind, when the attack came.

Slavers, he thought, though in the chaos of the fight it was difficult to determine. Really all they knew for sure was that one moment they were walking along the coast and the next there were several individuals with swords and knives quite set on impeding their progress. There was a mage with the party, too, and Sebastian concentrated on him first, counting the heartbeats after the shimmer of a shield appeared around the man, firing just before it dropped so that the arrow hit home the second the man was vulnerable. Then he moved his attention to the others, beginning to pick off the opposing archers. Merrill had fallen back by his side as soon as the attack began, giving her range to fling her spells without getting in the way of Hawke’s massive two-handed blade or Isabela’s daggers. He felt the energy surrounding her as she worked and it sent the blood racing through his veins, the surge of heat having nothing to do with the frenzy of battle.

He stole glimpses of her in between shots as he drew fresh arrows from his quiver. Her face was drawn in intense concentration, eyes focused on each target as she channeled her magic. They glinted each time a spell hit home, and he could make out the barest hint of teeth as her mouth turned up in a tight smile of satisfaction. She _should_ be satisfied, he thought as he loosed his next arrow. Every time one of the attackers got close to Hawke or Isabela, they found themselves encased in rock or vines, held immobile for one of the women to dispatch them or one of Sebastian’s arrows to hit home. Others found themselves bombarded by lightning, and some fell asleep where they stood. Merrill’s usual flustered state was gone, replaced by a cloak of calm competence. This was her element, Sebastian realized. Magic. Using it to protect those she cared about from harm. She looked fierce and beautiful and his breath caught at the sight of her. _Andraste herself could never have looked so magnificent_.

He felt a jolt of shame at the blasphemous thought and turned his attention back to the fight, pushing his awareness of Merrill back down to the barest minimum required. It didn’t last long, however. She gave a small cry of pain and surprise, dropping from the corner of his vision, and Sebastian immediately turned to her, the others forgotten. Before he could offer assistance, however, she was back on her feet again, scowling in the direction of the melee. “I’m fine,” she assured him with a light pat on the shoulder. “I think one of them deflected some of the rocks I had thrown.” Seeing Sebastian’s frown, she smiled and shook her head. “Really, I am all right. Look, I think Hawke and Isabela have taken care of the last of them, let’s go see what all of the fuss was about.”

Sebastian uttered a strangled laugh and let her drag him over to the others. Hawke and Isabela had indeed taken care of the last of the slavers and were busily going through their pockets. Isabela caught his disapproving look and shrugged, shooting him a sly smile. “What? If they had wanted to keep their stuff, they shouldn’t have attacked us. They don’t need it anymore. You can always donate your share to charity, if that will make you feel better about it.”

They made quick work of their looting—and Sebastian resolved he _would_ give his share to charity, because even if they had been attacked, he couldn’t quite reconcile the idea of spending money so obtained on himself—and continued on their way back to the city. Sebastian fell behind the group again, thoughts once more dwelling on Merrill. He’d met more than a few blood mages in his tenure with the Chantry, and the numbers had only gone up since meeting Hawke. She seemed to draw their ire like flies to honey. Every single blood mage he’d ever met had repulsed him, and even just being around ordinary mages—was there any such thing as an _ordinary_ mage?—tended to make him uncomfortable since his joining the Chantry. It made no sense at all that he should feel any sort of attraction to Merrill, knowing what she was. Yet he could not deny it was there.

He had not always felt uncomfortable about mages, he reflected. Before leaving Starkhaven, they had intrigued him. _Magic_ had intrigued him. But save for a few he had seen in the palace, there on official Circle business, he had never actually met any. Never really gotten to speak with any, to see that magic aside, they were just people. Prone to all of the flaws and temptations of everyone else. It was only that they could do so much more damage if they succumbed that made them more dangerous. At least, that was what he had been telling himself since coming to Kirkwall. But if mages were prone to all of the same badness as everyone else, so were they prone to the _goodness_. If they put their minds to it, and if they were allowed to, they could do so much more good with their magic than ordinary people. He frowned at this. The Chantry and the Circle didn’t like to acknowledge that fact though. Indeed, it seemed that they tried to bury it, lest public opinion of mages turn favorable. He tried to push the thought away, disturbed by its implications, and sighed again. Only thinking about Merrill could lead him to such thoughts.

Because the fact of it was that Merrill _was_ a good person. She was a blood mage, yes, but not evil. She was not driven by selfish desires or seeking glory for herself. She only wanted to preserve the past of her people. To do the duty she had been given by her clan. He would not deny that blood magic was dangerous, but nor could he deny that he trusted Merrill despite her use of it. He shouldn’t trust her at all, should be terrified of her. But he had a pretty good idea by now of what she was capable of, and though he had not seen her pushed to her limits, he thought perhaps he had seen her come close. Memories of the fight with Marethari flashed in his mind and a wave of sadness washed over him. Yes, she had come very close. Then, and again when her clan attacked. Yet she had used her magic in nothing more than defense.

No, Sebastian wasn’t terrified of Merrill at all, and that realization _did_ scare him. If anything, he was terrified _for_ her. The jolt of panic he had felt when he thought she had been hurt had been overwhelming. That was where the true danger lay. He had been so concerned about her that he’d utterly stopped paying attention to anything, anyone, else. What if Hawke or Isabela had fallen because he’d turned away from the battle? A wave of cold washed over him, followed by the shameful certainty that it wouldn’t have mattered. Not to Sebastian. Not if it had meant saving Merrill. He glanced ahead, eyes falling on her as she walked with Isabela once more. _Maker help me, I can’t let this continue. I must speak with Isabela and put an end to it. I_ must _. Surely if I explain just how dangerous her game is, she will understand._

She might, he knew. Isabela was alarmingly practical at times. Then again, she was also quite stubborn, and she seemed to have her mind made up. Still, he would speak to her. Yet even as he came to the decision, a small part of him knew that he wouldn’t do it. What was the point, after all? It was clear to him that he was already too far gone. Even if Isabela stopped her meddling, he was afraid there was no turning back. The feelings he’d tried for so long to keep pushed down were out, and they refused to be silent. He had never felt like this before, and he had no idea how to move forward. He needed guidance, but this was not something he could speak with Elthina about.

_I must pray_ , he thought. It was unlikely to change anything, but maybe it would at least ease his heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Transfigurations 12:1 (Dragon Age Wiki)


	3. Changing Currents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merrill is _quite_ aware of what Isabela is up to, thank you very much. 
> 
> In which, also, she decides it is time to deal with some things she's been putting off. Because tackling hard personal matters is much easier than trying to sort out her feelings about a certain Chantry brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter up. Life is just kind of a jerk sometimes, you know? But the next two chapters are already written and so should hopefully be posted in a more timely manner!
> 
> Thanks as always to my wonderful beta, spiritofemby!
> 
> Some spoilers for Merrill's Act III quest (or at least one potential outcome).

“Isabela, you really should stop teasing poor Sebastian. It isn’t nice, you know.”

Isabela paused, flask halfway to her mouth, and cocked her head. She raised one brow. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been throwing the two of us together for weeks now,” Merrill pressed on, ignoring her friend’s feigned innocence. She wasn’t surprised that Isabela would still play, but she had hoped the other woman might drop the game when it was just the two of them. “Nothing has happened, nothing is going to happen. All you’re doing is making him uncomfortable.” She paused and drew a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

“Well, then,” Isabela drawled, kicking her boots up on the table. Merrill thought about objecting but didn’t bother. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cleaned. Likely Isabela’s boots were in better shape than the table. She sighed and met Isabela’s eyes, frustration warring with amusement at the impish glint she found there. Isabela winked, took a deep swig of her rum, and then dropped her feet, leaning forward. “I am sure you could do a marvelous job of making him comfortable.”

Merrill scowled, frustration winning out, and slammed her palms down on the table. A cloud of dust rose up and Isabela hastily leaned back. Merrill sneezed and leaned back as well, brushing at her watery eyes. She pushed her chair back and walked a few paces away, turning once she had calmed a bit. She crossed her arms and glared at Isabela. “If I wanted that, I am perfectly capable of letting him know on my own.” She held herself up a little straighter and took another breath, she could feel heat rush through her face as she spoke again. “There is no need for all of this interference of yours, Isabela. I am not so innocent as everyone likes to think. I do know how to invite a man to my bed.”

Isabela narrowed her eyes. “Then why don’t you?”

“What?” Merrill blinked. It wasn’t the rebuttal she had expected. _Perhaps it should have been, though_ , she thought as Isabela continued.

“Why don’t you let him know you want him? I can see how you look at him, and you haven’t exactly been shying away when I arrange to get him close to you.” She huffed and crossed her own arms. “There’s no reason for you to pretend with me, Merrill. I’m not blind, you know.”

Merrill sighed. “Isabela…” She looked around the room, searching for some way to explain things so that her friend would let the matter be. “Did it ever occur to you that however much I might enjoy his company, I do not actually want him in that way? He is very pretty, yes, and I do enjoy looking, but that’s truly all there is to it. After all, I’m the First, and he’s a shem, it would hardly be appropriate for me to—”

“Bullshit.”

Merrill stared at Isabela, eyes wide. She blinked and then tilted her head, waiting for Isabela to continue.

“That’s a weak excuse,” Isabela said lightly. “It might hold water with anyone who didn’t _know_ you, Kitten, but not with me.” She fixed Merrill with a hard stare. “You might think you’re honoring your clan by holding to Dalish ways, but all you’re doing is keeping yourself isolated and preventing yourself from moving on.” Sitting back, she continued in a lighter tone. “I am quite a supporter of moving on, you know. Leave all of that ugly past behind, find nicer, _prettier_ things to occupy your time, hmm?” She smiled and waggled her eyebrows, drawing a laugh from Merrill despite her annoyance.

“Isabela, you know I can’t leave the past behind. Not completely. It was my job to remember. That’s the duty they trusted me with, and it is one I will never stop doing.” _Even if they stopped trusting me before the end. I owe it to them to carry on. There’s no one else left to, after all._

“All right, fine. Keep remembering if you must.” Her tone turned serious for a moment. “I suppose I can understand that. But that doesn’t mean you should just stop living your life. Maybe Sebastian isn’t your future. But what if he is? At the very least, he could be a fun distraction until I convince you to join my crew and run away to sea with me.”

“Isabela!”

“What, do you really mean to stay here forever? I know I don’t.”

“Hmm. I suppose it’s something to…consider.” Her ears twitched slightly and she smiled. Isabela had told her countless times that just because she had been ill on the voyage to Kirkwall didn’t mean she would every time she took ship. She wasn’t sure she believed her, but there was a certain appeal to following Isabela to sea. She shook her head, still baffled that Isabela seemed so set on Merrill joining her when she left. It had been a long time since she’d felt that tug—to join a friend in an adventure just because she could—to have her company on such adventures _wanted_.

“But about Sebastian—” Isabela started, interrupting Merrill’s thoughts. “There’s no reason not to have some fun while you’re still making up your mind. And think of all of that tension he must have to relieve. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about how much you’d enjoy tumbling him.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Merrill insisted. She shook her head again, then tilted it, pursing her lips and giving Isabela a considering look. “Although I should thank you, I suppose.”

“Oh?”

Merrill smiled slightly. “We can be friends, I think, Sebastian and I. Despite all of our differences, we do get on well. I wouldn’t have found that out if you hadn’t spent so much time trying to throw us together. As much as I like him, it seemed like a good idea to avoid the Chantry brother, after all. But I know he won’t turn me in to the Circle now, and I have enjoyed spending time with him.”

“Hmm, and is that enough?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Merrill tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She moved back to her seat and dropped into it, weary from the discussion.

Isabela leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Because I don’t care how much you protest, you _want_ him, Kitten. Do you think I don’t know desire when I see it?” She poked lightly at Merrill’s side, and Merrill winced in pain. “You know as well as I do why this happened. Those rocks wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near you if you hadn’t been paying more attention to him than to the fight. Maker’s breath, but the both of you are lucky that Hawke and I were capable of handling those slavers on our own!”

Merrill’s bruised side throbbed from the jab. Her ears twitched and from the way Isabela smirked as she looked at them, Merrill knew the tips had gone red. From embarrassment, yes, but also anger. She and Sebastian had contributed well enough to the fight and Isabela knew it. Yes, she and Hawke were capable, but they had _not_ handled those slavers on their own. She pushed down the emotion, knowing that Isabela was trying to get a rise out of her. Instead she fixed her eyes on Isabela, trying to present her most solemn face. Isabela continued smirking, but Merrill went on anyway.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Isabela. Besides, I’m used to going without.” In truth, she could scarcely recall the last lover she’d taken. Certainly it had been before the clan left Ferelden. But Isabela probably didn’t need to know that. There were more important things to worry about, after all.

Isabela didn’t see it that way, though. She leaned back in her chair, throwing her hands up in frustration. They fell back to her knees and she loosed a heavy sigh. “I _know_ you do. So does he. That’s not the point. The point is that neither one of you need to, but you’re both being too damn stubborn to admit it!”

Merrill snorted and rolled her eyes. “Why yes, Isabela, my kettle is a lovely shade of black. Thank you for noticing.”

Isabela blinked in confusion at the apparent shift in topic. Then her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward again, tapping Merrill on the tip of her nose. “You, my dear, have been spending entirely too much time with Varric.”

“Perhaps,” Merrill agreed, plastering an innocent smile on her face. Isabela shot her a level look and she sighed, shaking her head slightly as the smile faded. “There is more to consider than desire, Isabela. For one thing, he still has his vows.”

“I’m not so sure he does,” Isabela said slowly.

“What makes you say that?” Merrill asked, startled.

Isabela’s face shifted, and instead of the quip that Merrill had been expecting, when she spoke it was in a considering tone. “I can’t remember if you were with us or not, but some time after he first started tagging along with the group, he told Hawke that he had been released from his vows after he learned about his family. He couldn’t exactly rule a place like Starkhaven if he was bound by the restrictions of the Chantry after all. Or reclaim his throne, even.”

“But he hasn’t returned to Starkhaven,” Merrill pointed out. “He’s still a Chantry brother.”

“A lay brother, yes, but not sworn,” Isabela agreed. She shrugged lightly. “I heard him arguing with that old bat in charge—”

“Elthina,” Merrill corrected automatically. She didn’t think Sebastian would like anyone calling her an “old bat,” even if the image did make her want to giggle. Isabela shot her a look and she felt her ears go red again. Oh. Damn. She probably shouldn’t have said anything.

“Yes, her,” Isabela agreed, the hint of a smile on her face. “Anyway, I heard them arguing. He wanted to take his vows again, after one of the times he decided not to go back, I think. But she wouldn’t let him. She told him that until he had proven to her that he’d made his mind up one way or another, she wouldn’t even consider swearing him in again. So. Chantry brother, yes. Vows, no.”

Merrill frowned, considering. “Maybe,” she drawled. “But he asked to take the vows, and he is still at the Chantry. I think that means more than you’d like it to, Isabela. As far as he’s concerned, he’s still sworn until he decides he’s not.”

“Yes,” Isabela agreed, “because he’s stubborn!” She threw her hands in the air. “But don’t you see? If you told him how you feel, what you want, I’m sure he’d realize—”

“Isabela.”

She flinched at the sharpness of Merrill’s tone, staring at her in clear surprise. But at least she subsided.

“Isabela,” Merrill said again, more softly this time, with a smile. “Whatever Sebastian wants, it is not a meaningless tumble with me. Whatever I want from him, well, it’s not something I think he can give. So, I am asking you, as my friend, as his, to _please_ just let this be.” She reached out, setting her hand on top of Isabela’s. “I think it’s very sweet that you want us to both be happy, but I am asking you to consider that our happiness doesn’t lie with each other.”

“But what if it does?” Isabela held her gaze, still not willing to back down.

“Then it will be as friends,” Merrill said, her smile widening, “and we will have you to thank for it.” Isabela started to protest, but Merrill continued. “But that is all. So I am asking you to stop this.”

Isabela sat back in her chair, her hand sliding out of Merrill’s reach, and gave her a long look. Merrill gazed back, face placid, hoping fervently that Isabela would agree. Finally after a long moment, Isabela nodded once. “Oh, fine. You’ve taken all of the fun out of it anyway.” She stood and made her way to the door. “I should be going, I have a meeting about getting my ship repainted.” She paused before opening the door to look over her shoulder. “Come with me?”

She smiled and Merrill felt something small unwind inside of her. They were all right, despite the disagreement. Still, probably best not to push the matter too far.

“Oh, no. Thank you! But no, I should stay. I’ve plenty that needs doing here.” She noticed Isabela’s eyes flick to the bedroom and sighed. “Not the mirror,” she promised softly. Isabela tensed, but then relaxed and nodded. Wanting to reassure her, Merrill gestured at the table. “I really should clean this place up a bit.” She tilted her head, a thought occurring to her. “And I should probably get to the market. I am almost out of food again.”

“Well if you’d actually kill those rats you catch instead of letting them go,” Isabela teased her, “they wouldn’t keep eating all of it!”

Merrill laughed in response. “Oh, I don’t mind the rats so much. They probably need the food more than I do.”

Isabela snorted. She was still shaking her head as she slipped out the door. Merrill’s smile faded as it shut behind her, and she stayed where she was for some time, staring at the door and thinking. There had been something in Isabela’s eyes when she’d promised to stop meddling, and Merrill wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She was certain her friend hadn’t lied. Isabela would no longer go out of her way to play matchmaker. But Merrill was left with the unsettling feeling that she had missed something very important nonetheless. She sighed and stood up. _Oh well, I am sure I’ll figure it out eventually._

She set to work cleaning up and her thoughts drifted back to the conversation, and to Sebastian. She hadn’t been just making excuses about him being a shemlen. She’d never been with anyone that wasn’t an elf before, and the thought of bedding a human was somehow daunting to her. She remembered conversations between some of the others she’d heard when she was younger after each of the clan’s sporadic encounters with humans. Some of them were curious about what it would be like, others disgusted, and others still bragging that they knew and teasing their friends with tidbits of information. Yes, she wanted Sebastian, terribly so. And that terrified her more than she could admit to Isabela. Not really because he was human. She suspected he probably wasn’t that different from any of the elven men she’d bedded. Well, he might be a _bit_ different, having had so much experience and all. She dismissed that less than helpful line of thought. No, it scared her because she never would have considered such a thing, before. Before losing Tamlen and Mahariel. Before finding that damned mirror. Before leaving her clan in the hopes that she could somehow save it.

Her eyes darted back to the bedroom and she shook her head. She knew the others worried that she still worked on trying to repair it, but she had given up long ago. She hadn’t even been able to sleep in her bedroom in months, not wanting to go near it. If she had been able to do what she hoped, it _might_ have been worth the cost. But even she had to admit by now that it truly was a lost cause. Maybe it was time to get rid of it. To let at least part of the past go. It had brought her nothing but pain and loss. Marethari had been right about that much—though Merrill wished with every fiber of her soul that it had been the demon to betray her, rather than the Keeper. But done was done. She couldn’t change it. _If I ask Varric, he’ll know someone who can take it away. Dispose of it safely so that it can never hurt anyone again._

She thought about it, long and hard, standing just outside of the doorway to her room. But eventually, she decided against it, as she always did. _I will get rid of it_ , she promised herself, _but I will do it on my own. This is my burden to bear._ She stared at the shadow on her bedroom floor for a few more moments and then turned away. She gathered up her basket and small store of coins and made her way to the market, hoping fresh air would clear her mind.

A flash of white and gold caught her eye and she turned to follow it, shoulders sagging in disappointment when it turned out to be an ornate dresser in a cart moving toward Hightown. Then she chided herself for the disappointment. For hoping it had been him. She sighed, annoyed at the circular nature of her thoughts. Would she never be free of him? She wished Isabela hadn’t made such a logical argument for him no longer being bound by his vows. She tried furiously to think of him saying something to indicate that he still was, and clutched her basket in frustration when she couldn’t. But no matter how dismissive Isabela might be of the fact, he did remain in the Chantry. He continued to act as a brother, even if he wasn’t bound. Isabela didn’t understand, she really didn’t, and Merrill realized she envied her friend for that. Maybe Merrill wouldn’t have either, before she had come to live in the Alienage and seen the separation between elves and humans.

Either Sebastian would decide not to return to Starkhaven, and he would be allowed to retake his vows, or he would go home and be prince. Either way, he wasn’t for Merrill. Even if he did want her—and Merrill couldn’t believe that he did, no matter how nice he might be to her—it wasn’t as if he could take her to Starkhaven. If he retook the throne, he’d have obligations to his people, and those obligations would not include an elf who was also an apostate who was also a blood mage. She wasn’t about to change herself just so she could take a lover, after all. Besides, she had obligations of her own. Maybe being with Sebastian wouldn’t be a betrayal of her people, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think it wouldn’t mean hiding so much of who she was. That wouldbe a betrayal of herself.

No man was worth that, no matter how pretty.

~~~~

Isabela was true to her word. The next time Hawke came asking Merrill for help, it was Varric standing behind her on the stoop. It had been strange to Merrill, when Carta thugs attacked them in the tunnels of Darktown, how much she missed Sebastian’s bright presence at her side as she fought. Not that she didn’t enjoy fighting with Varric, but he tended to move around a lot more than Sebastian did, to get closer to the fray. More than once Merrill had to pull back before releasing a spell, lest she hit him instead of one of their attackers. She also had to pay more attention to her own immediate surroundings, without someone at her back. It didn’t make the fight harder, not really, but it was just…different.

_Better_ , she tried to convince herself, following behind Hawke and Anders on the way back to the clinic to regroup. _It’s better this way. I shouldn’t be relying on someone else to keep me safe._ But try as she might, she didn’t quite feel convinced. Much like Isabela wanting Merrill to join her ship’s crew, fighting at Sebastian’s side left her feeling less alone, somehow. _How long have I been used to being alone_ , she wondered, _that just having someone fight at my side feels so nice?_ The question left her unsettled, and she wished she had someone she could discuss it with. But Isabela was really the only one she could bring it up to, and she knew that would be a bad idea as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She still remembered that strange look Isabela had given her as she agreed to stop interfering. Meddling or not, Merrill didn’t think for one second that Isabela had given up her belief that the two of them should be together. No one got to be as free as Isabela without a great deal of determination, Merrill suspected.

She almost didn’t go to Varric’s for the next gathering, spending the two days leading up to it trying to keep herself busy thinking about anything else. Trading one source of lingering trouble for another, she decided it was finally the day to tackle the mirror. And tackle she did. Just getting it out of the house was more challenge than she had anticipated. Not because it was so big and clunky (though that was part of it), but because the damned thing didn’t seem to _want_ to go. _I should have expected that_ , she thought with a sigh. Even broken, even with the demon dead, she could still feel some sort of pull from the mirror. It did not want to go. _My will is stronger than yours_ , she told it fiercely, wrestling it onto the back of the mule she had rented for the work.

She braced herself for offers of help from others in the Alienage, but none came. Either the mirror exuded a strong enough aura of unpleasantness that they were keeping their distance, or they were wary enough of Merrill to leave her to her own business. _It isn’t as if I’ve gone out of my way to make any friends here_ , she thought sadly as she pulled on the mule’s lead to get him moving. Maybe she should take Isabela up on her offer. After all, what reasons did she have to stay here, aside from Hawke and Varric and Isabela and… _no, not him. He’s not a reason to stay. If anything he’s a reason to leave._

She wasn’t so foolish as to imagine she could destroy the eluvian completely, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a plan. She would not risk anyone else finding the mirror as Tamlen had, or going down a path like her own. Just getting it out of Kirkwall was only the start. First, she paid a visit to the docks. She had meticulously pulled every shard of glass from the mirror, going over her home three times to ensure not a single sliver remained behind, and divided them up into four heavy sacks, which she had then locked in strong chests. The chests were sealed with mundane means—chains and locks—as well as magical means. In theory, no one not of her own blood should be able to open the damned things. She stopped at four ships, all headed in different directions, and paid a crew member of each ship to drop the chest overboard once they were as far away from land, over as deep water as they could get. Perhaps she could have entrusted Isabela to the task, at considerably less cost to herself, but she thought it for the best to send the shards off separately from the start. As well as with someone who had no idea of the danger possessed within. Her requests garnered strange looks, but the gold she had managed to save up had been convincing enough. She had no worries that any of them would be able to open the chests. She would just have to trust in the Creators to see that they were actually dropped to the deeps.

Next she made her way to Sundermount. It was evening by the time she reached the abandoned camp, so she rested there for the night. She did not sleep, instead keeping a long overdue vigil for the Sabrae clan. It didn’t matter how long they had been gone, just being in their place brought them back to her, as vivid as if they were really there. So she spoke to them. Merrill spent the entire night speaking—calling up an image of each and every one of them and saying goodbye. She spoke into the darkness, recalling her favorite memory of each of them, sharing it with the night, with the wind, honoring their lives. She saved Marethari for last.

“I am sorry, _lethallan_ ,” she whispered as the first rays of dawn crept over the mountain. “I would not have had it happen this way.” She choked back a sob. “I know you believed you were doing what was best, but I wish you could have trusted in me to know myself, to know what I was doing. To act as _you_ taught me.” She shook her head, brushing the tears from her eyes, and hugged her knees to her chest. “But I thank you for caring, right until the end. You are more to me than you ever could have known, and I miss you. I will always miss you. But now I must make my own way.”

As dawn broke, she stood and began to lead the mule up the mountain path. She was tired and tense, ready for attack at any moment, but none came. Perhaps her vigil had put the spirits to rest. Perhaps it was just a stroke of luck. The mule balked as they approached the cave, but Merrill pulled him on, wishing fervently for a halla instead. _Of course, a halla would probably be smart enough to have never come up the mountain with me in the first place._ She coaxed him right into the cave and quickly untied the mirror’s frame, then led the mule back outside, tethering him carefully to a stunted tree nearby. For good measure, she cast a sleep spell on him. It wouldn’t do for him to escape. She had to get him back to his owner after this was said and done, and all of her extra coin had been exhausted on disposing of the shards. She could not afford for him to run off.

Back inside, she approached the mirror cautiously. Even without the glass, it radiated a sense of waiting, watching. She shook her head and sighed. So much potential. So much waste. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the heavy cloth from the frame and tossed it to one side. Then she set to work. She drew another deep breath and reached into the Fade, summoning her magic. Closing her eyes, she extended her senses, searching for the stone and the things that grew in this place. Slowly, the ground beneath the mirror began to stir, and small tendrils of vine appeared, wrapping around it. The wood strained and then splintered as jagged rocks breached the cave floor, surging through the frame. Bit by bit, she pulled the cursed thing apart, hating every second of it. _I am destroying a part of our history_ , she thought, letting the tears flow freely. _But I_ must _! It is too dangerous and there is not enough knowledge to make it safe again. If I don’t do this, then more will be lost._ She grabbed onto the sorrow, channeling it through her, into her magic, using the pain and the loss to rip apart the thing that sat at the center of so much of it.

Once it had been torn apart, the earth shifted again, small holes opening up as the rocks sank back down, pieces of the mirror following. The vines receded, dragging along their own pieces. She concentrated, imagining the mountain beneath her feet in her mind’s eye, seeing the pieces of the mirror scattered deep within its heart, buried inside the tons of rock. At last she opened her eyes again, breathing deeply and glancing around. She walked through the cave several times, making sure that not one piece of the mirror was left above the ground. Satisfied that her work was done, she left, retrieving the mule and waking him. When she reached the entrance to the clearing before the cave, she paused and tethered the mule again. _Creators, don’t let him be skittish. I don’t think I have enough in me to do this and put him to sleep again too._ Luckily the mule spied some elfroot nearby and turned to munch on it. With all of the animal’s attention so diverted, Merrill turned back to the task at hand. She drew a knife from her belt and sliced open her palm, feeling the electric sizzle of magic fueled by her own blood. As she had done before, she raised a barrier across the entrance to the clearing, making it as strong as she could. It would take blood magic to dispel. Not a perfect guarantee that the cave would remain undisturbed, but a better chance than any other kind of barrier. For extra measure, she called upon the mountain again, pulling rocks up in front of the barrier. It would appear to any travelers as just another impassable rock slide. Someone would have to be searching for the barrier to even feel it, she thought. Nodding slowly, she turned back to the mule, at last beginning her descent down the mountain.

She had done everything in her power to keep it from falling into anyone else’s hands. Anything after that was up to the Creators.

As draining as it had been, destroying the mirror had only been the work of an hour or two. She was back in Kirkwall by lunchtime, exhausted but proud of herself. She had hoped she would reach her home and collapse into her bed for some much earned sleep, but it would not come. The mirror, so long a part of her life, was no less conspicuous in its absence. Unable to sleep, she scrubbed her room from top to bottom. Twice. Then moved on to the rest of the house. She didn’t think it had ever been so clean. Not just since she moved in, but ever. After that she thought to try a warm bath, hoping it would ease her toward the sleep she so desired.

But still she was awake.

The house felt too empty now, and she could not bear the thought of staying. A quick glance outside showed it to be only just sundown. With a heavy sigh, she stepped out of the door and turned her feet toward the Hanged Man. Her stomach rumbled as she walked and she realized she had eaten nothing all day. Perhaps some food would settle her. If that failed, maybe some company would be just the distraction she needed. Thinking of distractions brought the image of a pair of bright blue eyes to the front of her mind and she nearly laughed out loud.

Thoughts of the mirror faded slowly away as she was caught up in a new tangle of worries. Her steps quickened, excited about the prospect of seeing him again, then slowed as she reminded herself that she shouldn’t be excited about that. But she had missed him. She reminded herself that he might not even be there, with Isabela not pulling strings anymore. A pang of disappointment shot through her at that thought, and she tried to push it down. He would be there or he wouldn’t, and she was determined that either way, she would have a pleasant night with her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Merrill's attempt to deal with the eluvian makes sense. I really feel like that is a chapter of her life she needs to close before moving on to anything else. I also definitely think it needed to be something she decided to do (and dealt with) on her own.


	4. Crashing Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unfortunate encounter causes Merrill and Sebastian to finally confront their growing feelings for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut, y'all. 
> 
> Many thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta spiritofemby!

Sebastian _was_ there, as it turned out—no, of course her heart didn’t start racing at the sight of him—but Isabela wasn’t. Nor was Fenris, she realized, looking around. Her mind supplied a likely explanation for the both of them being absent and she smiled. Varric greeted her with a hug and waved her on to the table as he bustled out of the room, saying something about fetching Norah for more refreshments. He laughed when Merrill’s stomach rumbled at this. “I’ll get extra, Daisy.” Merrill laughed, too, drifting into the room, making her hellos to Hawke, Aveline, Anders, and Sebastian.

She sat down next to him without even thinking about it. When she _did_ realize, she felt her face flush and wondered if she could move without calling anyone’s attention to it. She thought it would attract less attention to stay where she was, though. At least there was actually room for both of them on the bench, and Sebastian smiled so warmly when he turned to say hello. Really, it would be rude to move. She tried to pretend she wasn’t taking comfort from his presence, the remaining tension of her tiring day draining away as she leaned her elbows on the table and waited for Varric to return with the food.

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked her when the others turned back to their conversation. “You look tired.”

“It has been a long couple of days,” she told him with a shrug. “I have been busy.”

“Nothing is amiss, I hope?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she assured him, sitting up again and turning to offer a smile. “Right as rain, I promise.”

His brow furrowed and he watched her with concern for a minute. He looked as if he might press the issue, but then he nodded instead and turned back to answer a question from Aveline. Varric came back, carrying two dusty bottles and with Norah in tow. Merrill’s stomach grumbled again, and Varric chuckled,  directing Norah to put her tray on the table in front of Merrill. Everybody helped themselves while Varric poured out a round of drinks. Merrill ate so quickly she scarcely tasted the food as it went down. Which, considering the usual fare at the Hanged Man, was probably for the best.

“Damn, Daisy,” Varric whistled, impressed. “You’re tucking in like Blondie after one of his writing benders.”

Anders choked on his bite and glared at Varric as Aveline pounded on his back to dislodge the food.

“Ah, well,” Merrill could feel her face burning. “I might not have remembered to eat yet today,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

“No kidding,” Varric said, shaking his head. “What have you been up to, then?”

She sighed, feeling everyone’s attention shift to her. Varric and Sebastian both looked worried, Anders and Aveline suspicious. Merrill suspected they were thinking about the same thing and she pushed down a wave of annoyance. _I am not a child! Even if I had spent all day working with the mirror, they shouldn’t be looking at me like that. Any of them._ At least Hawke seemed nothing more than curious as she leaned forward, elbow on the table and hand in her chin. Merrill looked at her as she spoke, managing to keep her voice light. “Cleaning, mostly,” she told them. “The house needed a good scrubbing, and I wanted to get rid of some rubbish, is all.”

Everyone around the table relaxed and Merrill tried not to bristle.

“I have always found that a day spent cleaning is as good for clearing out the mind as for clearing out the home,” Sebastian offered in a soft, warm voice. He shot her an apologetic smile and her annoyance at him faded. He had seen her irritation, and guessed at its cause well enough. She nodded to him slightly and smiled back, grateful for his attempt to shift the attention from her.

“Well if that’s the case,” Aveline spoke up, “I should send you over to Fenris’ place. It’s in dire need of cleaning, and maybe once you’ve finished with that, you’ll have finally made your mind up over what to do about Starkhaven.”

“Perhaps,” he answered, still in that quiet voice. Merrill narrowed her eyes, watching him. If she hadn’t been looking so closely, she might not have seen his face change. The warmth faded, and the openness melted away. In its place was a pleasant, neutral smile, one that did not reach his eyes at all. His own version of bristling, she thought. No one else even seemed to notice it, though, and that made her sad for some reason.

“Oh, Aveline, do lighten up!” Hawke chided, swatting the other woman’s shoulder. “Anyone would think you want to chase him away from our merry little band of misfits.”

“Of course I don’t!” Aveline objected, eyes going wide. She turned back to Sebastian, stern expression softening. “You know I don’t. I just think you should decide, one way or the other. It does you no good, this dithering.”

“It does Starkhaven no good, you mean,” Hawke interjected, rolling her eyes. “They’ve held together this long, I am sure they can last until Sebastian gathers up an army to go back.”

It seemed to Merrill that this was exactly the wrong thing to have said. Sebastian’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed just a fraction. Merrill found herself wanting to reach out, to pat his arm or squeeze his hand. Aveline shot Sebastian an uneasy look and opened her mouth again, then closed it, thinking better of whatever she’d been about to say. Hawke seemed oblivious to the tension she had stirred up, calling out for Varric to deal the first hand. Merrill wished that Isabela was there. She would know how to calm Sebastian down again, to get him to smile.

She bit her lip and looked around, realizing everyone else was occupied with the game getting underway. Sebastian was sitting very straight and very still, that strained smile still on his face. Deciding to take a chance, she scooted closer to him and reached out to pat his hand. “You know Hawke didn’t mean anything by that,” she whispered. Sebastian turned to her, eyes going wide again, and she swallowed a lump in her throat before pressing on. “She doesn’t understand that it’s not about you, it’s about your people. If you make the wrong choice you risk hurting _them_.”

Sebastian relaxed and he nodded slowly. He smiled at her then, a real smile, and Merrill felt warm right down to her toes. She cleared her throat and pulled her hand back, finally reaching out to pick up her cards. She buried her nose in them, pretending to make sense of her hand, but she could feel Sebastian’s eyes on her for several long minutes. She thought maybe she had surprised him with her own understanding. _Good_ , she thought. He could do with the reminder that, for good or ill,  her own actions had been intended with her people’s best interests in mind, as well.

The rest of the evening passed in a more genial fashion. Varric managed to keep the flow of conversation away from Starkhaven and whatever Merrill had been up to, and even Anders was more or less polite. As much as she missed Isabela, Merrill was pleased to find that in her friend’s absence, she and Sebastian could speak with much more ease. Even if it was about silly things. Sebastian asked which gardens Merrill had visited lately, and told her she should make sure to visit the Chantry’s gardens within the next month, since the flower beds were starting to bloom. He asked if the Dalish had managed to have anything like gardens, since they moved around so much, and she explained about the planting boxes on the aravels, and how often they would stay in one place long enough for a round of planting and harvesting, provided they weren’t chased out of the area. From there, talk turned to the new arrows Sebastian had spent the week making. She asked him about the feathers he preferred for fletching and that led to a discussion of what the Dalish used for their own arrows. Sebastian seemed excited about the information, claiming he would like to try some of those techniques with his next batch.

It was all very nice, and of course they were often pulled into the general conversation as the game played out. Somehow, Merrill managed to win the biggest pot of the night, although she was not sure _how_. No one seemed to believe her that it had been entirely by accident, though, and Varric insisted she keep her winnings. She gave in without too much fuss, recalling that she had spent almost all of her coin on her project of the last few days. After that, Varric declared the evening over, and started shooing people out. He asked Hawke to wait, though, saying he needed to talk to her about a potential business opportunity.

“Choir Boy, do us a favor and walk Daisy home, won’t you?” Varric called out as she made her way to the door. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sebastian pause mid-step, and she felt another wave of irritation surge up. She whirled around, mouth already open to point out that she could make it home all by herself thank you very much, but Varric held up a hand, palm out. “Humor me, Daisy. You’re practically asleep on your feet, and you’ve got quite a bit of coin jangling in your pockets. _I_ would feel better if you had someone to watch your back.”

Merrill sighed. She had to admit, she was still exhausted. She turned to Sebastian to find him watching her, brows furrowed in a curious expression. He shrugged and smiled at her. “I do not mind, if you would like the company.”

“Thank you, Sebastian,” she said. Varric heaved an audible sigh of relief and Merrill shot him a look. He shrugged and smiled, waving them out.

Sebastian was quiet as they made their way out of the tavern and turned for the Alienage. Merrill was content to walk in silence, hoping the calm would work with her exhaustion to allow her to actually _sleep_ once she got home. When he did speak, not far from the entrance to the Alienage, it startled her so much that she jumped. “Thank you,” he said, “for earlier. I know Hawke didn’t mean anything, and Aveline only means the best.” He trailed off and Merrill reached up to pat him on the arm.

“She just likes everything to be in its proper place, I think,” Merrill said. “She doesn’t know what to do with us.”

Sebastian glanced down at her, eyebrows rising. “No,” he said after a moment, “I suppose she doesn’t. But it is nice to know that someone does understand.”

“Well I know I’m probably not much help in affairs of state,” she said cheerfully, “but I do understand trying to do what’s best for your people.” She bit her lip and glanced up at him. “If you ever need someone to talk to about—well, about that.”

He nodded slowly, a small smile on his lips. “Thank you,” he said again. He paused, turning to face her fully, and took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry, too. For earlier, for assuming you had been working with the eluvian.” His tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar word, and Merrill was too distracted by how it sounded in his accent to correct his pronunciation. “I know it’s none of my business, truly, and that your intentions with it are good. I just worry when you are pulled in so much that you get distracted from caring for yourself.” He lifted up a hand, as if to reach out for her, then seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped it back down to his side. “I would not wish to see anything bad happen to you,” he finished in a whisper.

Merrill stared at him, unsure of what she should say to that. Sebastian worried for her? Not about what she would do with the mirror, but that she might get hurt in the process of repairing it. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Well,” she drawled, meaning to tell him he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. Before she could continue, however, there was a loud cry from the nearby alleyway and they found themselves surrounded. Engrossed in their conversation, neither one of them had noticed the band of thieves sneaking up around them.

The fight didn’t last long. The thieves were woefully unprepared to go up against fighters with as much experience as Merrill and Sebastian. When you spent most of your free time fighting slavers, Qunari, the Carta, darkspawn, and _dragons_ , a few thugs were no challenge at all, really. Merrill had her staff out as soon as the cry had sounded, and though she did not have the space to call any of her spells, the staff was also very effective as a quarterstaff. Sebastian, likewise unable to draw his bow, had a pair of daggers out and ready. He might not be as skilled with the blades as Isabela, Merrill noted, but he certainly knew what to do with them. She and Sebastian stood back to back, fending off their attackers and looking for a break in the group that would allow them to get to more advantageous ground. “There!” Sebastian called after a few moments, pointing toward an empty alley a few yards away. It dead-ended not far in, which meant that they wouldn’t have to guard their backs if they could get to it. Sebastian pulled a flask from one of his pouches and tossed it into the middle of the attackers. It exploded into a cloud of smoke and Merrill felt Sebastian grab her hand. She pulled her scarf over her mouth and nose and ran with him to the alley. By the time the smoke cleared, they were firmly ensconced and Sebastian had his bow drawn. From there, it was quick work for the two of them to dispatch of the group of thieves.

“Varric’s never going to let me walk home alone again,” Merrill grumbled as they ventured back out of the alley. Sebastian chuckled and she shot him a wry smile. “Not that I wasn’t glad of your company this time.”

“We don’t have to tell him,” Sebastian said, winking at her. Merrill was suddenly quite glad for the darkness. _Creators, he shouldn’t be allowed to do that._ For just a second, she had a glimpse of the rogue he had been, and she understood Isabela’s constant laments about never having met him back then.

“Thank you,” she said, clearing her throat. “That might be for the best. I—”

“What’s all this then?” A new voice broke in. The question was quickly followed by a shout of, “Apostate! Stay where you are!”

Merrill and Sebastian both turned toward the newcomer. She had barely registered the Templar armor before her staff was up and she was reaching into the Fade, already preparing for her most lethal spell. She could feel the tell tale tingling that signaled the start of a smite, and she shuddered. She had experienced that once, and never wanted to again. If she was lucky, she could loose the spell before he finished calling his own strange brand of magic.

A soft twang sounded from beside her and before she could complete the spell, the Templar let out a choked off cry and dropped to the ground. Merrill’s eyes went wide at the sight of an arrow shaft sticking out from the gap in his armor, just under his arm. It was buried deep, and she knew it had hit the heart. She whirled around, facing Sebastian, beginning to demand an explanation. She’d had the situation under control, and against an armored man, her magic was much more reliable than an arrow, at least in this particular situation. The question died on her lips when she caught the expression on his face, though.

He looked thunderstruck, staring at the dead Templar with unseeing eyes. She called his name but he didn’t respond, so she reached out and grabbed his arm, trying again. “Sebastian!”

He turned to her then, and his face crumpled. “Merrill, I—oh Maker, what have I done?”

The bow slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground. Merrill bent down and retrieved it, wrapping his fingers around it once more. “Go!” She said. “You need to get out of here as quickly as you can!” She glanced around the street, trying to see if there were any witnesses. None, as far as she could tell. _Creators, please, let no one have seen._ He stared down at her, uncomprehending, and she pushed at his chest. “I’ll be fine, but you need to get out of here. Go!”

He blinked once and then looked at her again, finally seeming to see her. He glanced at the Templar’s body and then swallowed, nodding. She pushed his chest again and he nodded once more, turning and slipping into another alley, disappearing into the night. Merrill took a deep breath and glanced around the street again. The Templar had fallen right in the middle of the thieves. If no one looked too closely, it was probable that whoever found him would just assume that he and the thieves had done each other in. For that matter, in this part of Kirkwall, it seemed more than likely that the first people to find the bodies would strip them of all of their valuables—which would include the Templar’s armor. With luck, no one would ever know exactly what had happened, and the Templar would just be lumped in with the rest of Kirkwall’s nightly casualties. Just to be on the safe side, she quickly gathered up all of the arrows, not wanting to leave any of Sebastian’s behind, and not wanting to raise suspicion by pulling the arrow from the Templar’s body but not anyone else’s. It would attract less curiosity that way. Arrows were valuable, after all, and thieves were just as likely to take those as the armor.

As soon as she was certain that all evidence tying them to the incident was gone, she ran for the Alienage. She did not stop running until she was safe inside her home with the door barred behind her. Only then did the adrenaline wear off and her exhaustion reclaim her. It was all she could do to shove all of the arrows into the back of a closet and undress before collapsing into her bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

~~~~

Waking was a disorienting experience. For the first time in what seemed like ages she felt rested, actually refreshed by the night’s sleep. She woke slowly, warm and cozy in her bed, her body heavy and relaxed. She blinked her eyes, staring up at the ceiling, visible in the dim light that made it through the canvas she had used to patch up the holes. She smiled at that, proud of herself for finally getting around to that chore, and stretched in the bed before sitting up.

Her happy mood fizzled away as her eyes landed on the pile of her clothing next to the bed. Even in the low light she could make out the blood that stained them, and the events of the previous night came back to her in a flood. She buried her face in her hands and groaned. By the Dread Wolf, what had Sebastian been thinking? To kill thieves in the street in self-defense was one thing. No one could fault him for that, Chantry brother or not. But for a member of the Chantry to kill a Templar? In defense of an apostate? She shuddered at the thought of what might happen to him if anyone found out. Why had he done that? Had he still been caught up in the fire of the fight? He must have been, to have acted so quickly in firing. He hadn’t thought about what he was doing, had only sensed a threat and acted.

He’d be thinking about it now, though, she was sure.

Merrill sighed and threw back the covers, shivering as the cooler air washed over her bare skin. She glanced down at her clothes and sighed again. They’d need to be washed. Remembering the arrows she’d retrieved, she thought it might be best to clean those too, if she could. Or maybe it would be better to burn them. She pursed her lips, hating the thought of destroying something Sebastian had worked so hard to make. But it might be safer for him.

For herself, too, she thought as she cleaned herself up and began the work of washing. Sebastian wasn’t the only one in danger if anyone found out what had happened. The Templars would come for her. She wouldn’t expect any sort of kindness or mercy from them under normal circumstances, and her part in something like this would only make it worse. She had long ago realized that if the Templars of Kirkwall got their hands on her, being made Tranquil was the kindest fate she could expect. But there was nothing to say the Templars wouldn’t find a way to take their vengeance out on her before she was put to the brand.

Clothing clean, and dried with the expedience of a small heat spell, she turned to the arrows, examining them closely. A few of Sebastian’s arrows were worth salvaging, but would he want them back, after what had happened? Just in case, she set those carefully aside, tucking them into a drawer for safekeeping until she could ask him. The rest of the arrows she tossed into the hearth, pulling out the heads before feeding them to the flames. She cleaned the salvaged arrowheads up and put them in a sack. She could sell them in Darktown with no questions asked.

She managed to keep herself busy until midday, then forced herself to eat a small lunch before setting out for Darktown. She took the long way there, using the detour to walk through the place where they had been attacked the night before. There was no sign of the bodies. Even the bloodstains were faded already—scuffed and covered up with dirt from all of the neighborhood’s usual traffic. She kept her ears open as she walked down the street, listening for any talk of what had happened, but there was no mention of it, and the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. If the inhabitants had found anything out of the ordinary about the corpses, she knew, there would have been a buzz of speculation. For perhaps the first time since leaving her clan, she was grateful for the gangs that patrolled Kirkwall at night. At the very least, they made the population apathetic about new bodies in the street come morning.

Her errand to Darktown taken care of, Merrill made her way to the Hanged Man. She was starting to think that it would be all right, that no one had seen, that no one was suspicious of the Templar’s death. But before she let herself relax completely, she needed to be sure. If anyone was talking about what had happened, if anyone had seen, Varric would know by now.

~~~~

Three days later, everything seemed to be back to normal. Varric had mentioned in passing that a Templar was missing, but from what he said, Meredith thought the man had either run away or run afoul Kirkwall’s nightlife. That was it. No mage hunt. No big investigation. Not even a hint of a whisper that anything else was suspected. While Merrill was relieved at the passing of that particular worry, she was starting to grow concerned about Sebastian.

No one had seen him since that night.

He’d had plans with Fenris that he just never showed up for. Someone else was leading his usual services in the Chantry, according to Aveline. Isabela lamented to Merrill that he’d missed his target practice for the last three days, too. Merrill was starting to fear that something was terribly wrong. What if he had been hurt in the fight and she hadn’t noticed? Could he be in pain and alone, with no one knowing he was injured and taking care of him? Or what if it was worse? What if he’d made it back to the Chantry only to bleed out? What if he’d never made it back at all?

She tried to tell herself she was being foolish, overthinking it. _I am sure he’s just feeling guilty or ashamed about what happened. He’s probably been praying this whole time._ He did that.

Probably Merrill was the last person he would want to see, but she felt an overwhelming need to check on him, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else. None of the others seemed at all concerned about his disappearance. She tried not to be annoyed about that, after all, they didn’t know what had happened. She hadn’t told a soul. But it bothered her that no one else suggested that maybe they should check on him. He could be sick, for all they knew, and need someone to take care of him. Maybe if she told Isabela what had happened, she would sneak into the Chantry and make sure he was all right. But that seemed like a betrayal, somehow, to tell someone else.

She was pacing back and forth in front of her hearth on the fourth night, debating on just going into the Chantry herself. She wasn’t as good at sneaking as Isabela, someone would surely see her. But at this point she didn’t really care. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and she jumped at the sound. “ _Elgar’nan_ ,” she muttered as she moved to the door. “Who could that be at this hour?” She swung open the door and drew in a deep breath at the sight of Sebastian on her stoop.

“Merrill,” he whispered, pleading.

She blinked and stepped back, allowing him to stumble into the room. He took a few steps inside and then stopped, looking around as if he was lost. Merrill shut and barred the door and leaned against it, looking him over closely. He was rumpled, his hair a mess, eyes bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled. His clothes themselves were something of a shock. He wore plain work clothes, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen him in anything but his armor or Chantry robes. He was also clearly exhausted. If she had to guess, she would say he hadn’t slept since before the incident. But other than that he was whole. _Thank the Creators!_

“ _Lethallin_ , you look about to fall over!” He started and his eyes went wide as he turned to stare at her. She bustled over and pushed him into a chair. “Sit, please. I’ll make you some tea. Are you hungry? I’ve some fresh fruit, and some cheese that isn’t so fresh, but probably still good. There might be some bread, too,” she rambled.

He placed a hand on her arm and she paused, holding her breath and looking down into his eyes. “Merrill,” he breathed again, “ _please_.”

She nodded and released her breath, then moved to take the other chair, eyes locked with his all the while. They stared at each other, and Merrill resisted the urge to twiddle her thumbs while she waited for him to speak. After a few minutes, it became clear that, whatever he had come to say, he had no idea how to start. She placed her hands on the table, pressing down to keep herself from reaching out to him.

“I have been worried about you,” she said, needing to break the silence. “No one’s seen you for days.”

“I am sorry to have caused you concern,” he said, swallowing and turning his head, breaking the gaze at last. “I was praying.”

“This whole time?” He nodded, eyes squeezing shut. “Did you find what you needed?” The question was more curiosity than anything else.

“I do not know,” he sighed. “It may be that what I’ve done cannot be forgiven.”

Merrill frowned, “Is your Maker so harsh then? You acted in self-defense; we had just been under attack and for all we knew, that Templar was another thief.” She shook her head, baffled. “You did not realize he was a Templar until after you had fired. If you had—”

Sebastian made a choked off sound in his throat, cutting her off. He was shaking his head, eyes still shut. He drew a deep breath and opened them, turning to face her again. “I knew,” he whispered. His eyes locked onto hers and she saw the truth in them. “I knew what he was before I drew my bow. It is why I fired. It is why I fear I cannot be forgiven.”

“Why?” Merrill demanded. She could not tear her eyes from his. “What would make you do such a thing?”

He looked down, and she followed suit, watching as he slid his hand across the table, stopping just short of her own. Their fingers were barely a hair’s breadth apart. She stared down at them, barely breathing. Long, elegant, so dark next to her own, and stained with blood. Invisible blood, perhaps, but there all the same. Just as her own. Her fingers itched to reach out, to take his hand, but she held herself back, waiting for his answer. When he spoke once more, she looked up again, meeting his eyes.

“I knew that he would take you away,” Sebastian answered. His words were soft, thick, and she had to lean forward to hear him. “I could not bear the thought of you in the Circle. In the Gallows. That is not where you belong.” He shuddered and shook his head as if to deny the very thought.

Merrill stared at him, and had to remind herself to keep breathing. She looked down at their hands again, so close. All it would take would be for her to slide one forward ever so much, to _touch_ , and— _No!_ She pushed back her chair and stood, moving to stand in front of the hearth. She couldn’t be so close to him right now. She wanted too much, and it was muddying her thoughts. He could not mean what she thought. This was another one of those moments where she could not get a proper read on the situation. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared into the fire. Trying to redirect the conversation, she drawled, “Wanting to keep a blood mage out of the Circle doesn’t seem like something the Chantry would approve of. You must not be a very good brother.”

“No, I suppose I’m not,” he agreed. She wheeled around, surprised. There was a strange look on his face, one Merrill couldn’t read. He leaned back in the chair, scrubbing a hand over his chin. The light glinted off the rough beginnings of a beard, redder than the hair on his head, and Merrill took a step closer, curious despite herself. Why would the hair on his face grow in a different color? She didn’t think she’d ever seen him with so much as stubble. Even when they traveled with Hawke he took care to shave. He really must have been distraught, to have given up that task. She stepped forward again, tilting her head. It suited him, she thought. It made him look the rogue he had once been. She wondered if he had often let the beard grow out, before.

She was so lost in her thoughts that it took her a moment to realize he had said something else. She blinked, searching her memory, calling it back. He’d said, “And I would do it again without a moment’s hesitation.”

“What?” Merrill took a step back, mouth hanging open. She shook her head, trying to make sense of it. He was watching her still, eyes sharp, but expression carefully blank. She wished he wouldn’t do that. She felt so lost. She seized on the flare of annoyance, focusing on it, needing to get a handle on the situation. “Why?” She fixed her eyes on his, letting her anger build. “Why would you risk yourself like that? Can you not trust me to take care of myself? Or are you worried about what I would do in my own defense?” His eyes widened and he sat up, opening his mouth to reply but she pressed on. “I don’t need your protection, Sebastian! I don’t _need_ anyone to protect me. I am not weak!”

“I know!” Sebastian reached out a hand, it wavered in the air between them. “It’s not about thinking you’re weak, Merrill. That’s not it at all. Don’t you see?”

“No!” she cried. “I don’t see! All of us get tired or frightened or angry, but when it’s me, you all watch _so_ closely. As if you’re waiting for me to break. Worried about when I will finally lose control.” She threw her hands in the air and then whirled around to face the fire again, letting them fall. Her fists clinched and she shook her head, letting out everything that had been building up inside of her. "Everyone thinks I'm this frail, fragile thing! That I need to be protected! They just look at me and see poor, silly Merrill, too naive to take care of herself. Too foolish to know that blood magic is dangerous. An abomination waiting to happen. A threat to everyone she cares about," she finished in a whisper.

"That’s not what I see."

She turned back to him. The words had come out in a strangled choke, and the way he was looking at her...Creators! A shiver that had nothing to do with fear or frustration ran through her body. She took a step closer, relishing the way his eyes widened at her approach, the way he swallowed. "Oh? And what do you see, then?"

"Strength," he breathed. "You are so strong Merrill. You have lost so much, but your faith has never wavered. You know exactly who you are. You are dangerous, yes, but strong. Dangerous and strong and bright and beautiful. Like a flame." His eyes dropped shut and he turned away. "And I am a moth." He drew a deep breath and pushed himself out of the chair, straightening to his full height. He released the breath and drew another, raising his head to meet her eyes again.

He started to take a step forward but hesitated. Merrill bit her lip, then whispered, “You are far too pretty to be a moth.”

He laughed, and the tension in his shoulders lessened. He closed the distance between them, reaching out a hand and cupping her face gently. “But I am drawn to you nonetheless,” he breathed.

It was too much. His touch was like fire, racing down her spine, setting every inch of her body ablaze. _She_ was flame? She took the last step forward, pressing her body to his and stretching up on her toes, kissing him. He let out a helpless sound and his hand slid around to the back her head. The other one went around her waist, holding her tightly in place as he kissed back. She felt the press of his tongue at her lips and let them fall open, allowing him inside. She reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair, holding him as tightly as he held her, pulling back only when her head was swimming from a lack of breath and she couldn’t stand it anymore. He nipped at her lip as she did so, whimpering at the break of contact. He loosened his arm only enough to let her tilt her head back, resting his forehead on hers while they caught their breath.

“I need you so much,” he whispered at last. “Please.”

“Shh, _ma vhenan_ , I am here.” She leaned back a little more, smoothing his hair and tucking a finger under his chin, tilting his face so she could look in his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in them. To abandon herself to his mercy, to give in to her desires. _He sees who I am, and yet he still wants me,_ she realized. _He’s not asking me to change at all._ Something in her chest eased, that last bit of resistance to the idea melting away. Yes, she thought she could at last let herself want. But she wasn’t the only one who had reason to hold back. “Your vows?” She could not quite bring herself to care about his answer, save that she knew _he_ cared. If she let him break those vows, he would never forgive her.

Sebastian drew a deep breath and, to her surprise, blushed. “I have not been sworn for some time,” he admitted, “and it was agreed that I would not be again, not unless—”

She stopped him with a finger over his lips, nodding. Isabela had been right then. Which meant she had as well. He stayed at the Chantry because he wanted to, not because he was bound. But still, he was here now. She had to believe that meant he wanted this as well. Something in his eyes changed, and his lips quirked up in a smile that made her knees weak. He nipped at her finger and leaned in for another kiss. Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. “Yes?” he whispered into her ear as he set her down by the bed.

“Yes!” She reached for the collar of his shirt, already pulling free the laces and tugging to get it off of him. He laughed and stood still, allowing her to undress him, moaning as she skated her fingers across the bared flesh, relishing the chance to touch. She had barely finished before he began returning the favor, tugging off all of her clothing with clear impatience. She sighed as he touched as well, long fingers curling around the swell of her bottom, tracing her breasts, tweaking at her nipples. She didn’t ever want him to stop. But the pleasant throbbing between her legs was building, and she knew he would have to soon, if only so she could get him inside of her.

_Oh, Creators, this is actually happening!_ Realization hit her like a thunderbolt and she moaned. Sebastian chuckled, and she caught a smug smile. She started to scowl at him, but then his fingers brushed between her legs, teasing, just dipping into her slick, and she forgot to be annoyed. He stood and kissed her again, hands on her hips, guiding her to the bed. He pushed her so that she was sitting on the edge, then knelt in front of her, pushing on her thighs to spread them apart. She stared down at him as he leaned forward, kissing the tip of each of her breasts, tongue swirling around each nipple before sliding down her stomach. _Goodness, he has a lovely tongue_ , she had time to think before he reached his target and all thoughts fled.

She fell back across the bed, crying out as he worked his fingers and tongue inside of her. Her back arched and she buried her fingers into his hair again. The pleasure built up until she couldn’t take it anymore, and it was all she could do not to call lighting from the air as she crested the wave, crying out as the orgasm washed through her. She lost track of time for a bit, but it came back to her when she felt Sebastian settling her back on the bed, lying across it properly this time. “Oh, that’s good then,” she said with a distracted smile, and then she stopped thinking again as he moved over her, pushing inside of her and _oh yes good so good_ , “don’t stop Sebastian please, oh Creators, yes!” Then he was the one crying out, stuttering thrusts and then slowing to stillness, holding himself up on his elbows and breathing raggedly. She reached up, tugging, pulling him down, and curled into him, stealing another kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and burying his face in her neck, kissing her shoulder. He mumbled something that she couldn’t make out, and then kissed her again, before whispering, “Maker help me for needing you so much, but I won’t take it back.” He was shaking, she realized, and he pulled her even closer.

She brushed a hand over his cheek and realized he was crying. “Shh,” she told him, repeating her earlier assurance. “I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here.”


	5. Swells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian makes his peace with what has happened and starts looking forward to what comes next. Everything is starting to seem like it just might be all right, when all hell breaks loose (of course).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the delay in posting this chapter! Life, you know? 
> 
> I hope you find it worth the wait, and the last chapter should be up by the end of the weekend as well. 
> 
> Also, just as a heads up, this starts to get into end game territory (so spoiler alert for the end of Dragon Age II), but it also definitely goes off book. Largely because at this point, there are other considerations for Sebastian and Merrill than just what we get in the game.

Sebastian had prayed about many things over the past few days, and he had thought long and hard before seeking Merrill out. He had gone to her with the intent to apologize for what he had done, not only to the Templar, but to her. If they had been seen—and he had to believe they hadn’t, otherwise there would have been repercussions by now—there would have been no escaping the Gallows for Merrill. He shuddered at the thought. He would have deserved any punishment given for his actions, but if harm had come to her because of something he had done, he would never have been able to live with himself. She was quite right that it was not his place to protect her. Not outside of battle joined together, at least. That he had stepped in and done so without even thinking about the consequences was, at best, out of line. She was a proud woman, far too used to being diminished or underestimated by her companions. He had promised himself long ago that he would do no such thing, and yet he had done just that.

While he had been sequestered, Sebastian made peace with the knowledge that the Maker might not forgive his transgression. He had turned his back on Chantry law, deliberately killing one of Andraste’s servants for the sake of a blood mage. It mattered not how hard he worked to counter the action, to do good that would outweigh the bad—and he would, that had been an easy resolution to make--redemption was beyond him. To be redeemed, there must be regret, repentance. Sebastian had neither. Given the same circumstances, he would do it again, just as he had. Were he to go to confession with this sin, to try to explain the reasons _why_ he had acted as he had, why he would do it again, he knew they would be viewed as irrelevant. But they might matter to Merrill. So he had gone to apologize, to attempt to explain himself in the hopes that she, at least, could forgive him. Maybe it wasn’t salvation, but it would ease his soul all the same. To go unforgiven by the Maker was acceptable. But by Merrill? Unthinkable.

He tried not to dwell too much on what that said about him.

He had not even managed to get an apology out, let alone an explanation. Merrill’s worry for him had been overwhelming, and her anger justified. But somehow, she had understood his fumbled attempt to explain himself, his feelings. The echo of his own feelings showing in her eyes had been enough to tell him forgiveness was granted. Enough to make him forget for just a little while all of the reasons he had tried to stay away.

He wasn’t ever going to forget that night. He knew it even before they were through with each other. In her arms, it was easy to lose himself, to give in to everything he had been wanting to do with her, _to_ her, to have her so willingly submit, then demand the same from him. In between, when they weren’t making love—and what else could he call it, would he even be here if it was anything else? Would _she_ have let him in otherwise?—they could not bear to let one another go. They touched and kissed and snuggled, dozed briefly only to wake up and do it all again. They didn’t talk much, aside from the murmured directions or demands for the task at hand. She was more playful in reality than the Merrill of his dreams, but no less sure for that, and no less determined to take what she wanted from him. He gave it all to her, and gladly. She was in turn more than willing to let him take as well.

As the night wore on, he felt his burden lifting. All the shame he had been carrying—for wanting when he shouldn’t, for what had happened with the Templar, for being unable to decide if he should stay in Kirkwall or go—melted bit by bit as he gave himself over to her. The confusion and regret faded, leaving behind it the knowledge that whatever else he had lost, his faith in the Maker remained, and that was what he needed to see him through. To help him find his faith in himself again. And Merrill, sweet Merrill who knew exactly who she was, was helping him see that he didn’t have to know _where_ he fit to believe that he _did_ fit somewhere. He could not change what he had done. He could only accept it, and move forward. Make his peace with the Maker, and with himself, and strive to do _better_.

In the spaces left behind by the pain and regret, he tucked away memories instead. He filled them up with Merrill’s sighs and moans, the soft pants when she was getting close, the delighted cries when orgasm washed over her. The way her eyes glinted with mischief when she found the ticklish spot on his side, and how they’d glazed over when he nibbled her ears. She’d giggled as she toyed with the hair on his chest and between his legs, then turned utterly serious as she stroked his growth of beard. “You look so disreputable, _ma vhenan_. Mmm, but perhaps you should keep it anyway.” She’d smiled, slow and teasing. “I think I like it.”

“Oh do you now?” he’d asked, grinning in return before flipping her over on the bed and working his way down, pushing her thighs apart and rubbing his beard against the soft skin there. Her gasp was answer enough, and he’d laughed as he moved up again, just enough to work his tongue inside of her. He savored the hungry way she’d kissed him after, before sliding down his body to take her own turn. He tried to memorize the feel of her mouth on him, of those delicate fingers tracing across his skin, sending fire racing through his veins. His dreams had nothing on the reality of her.

Even better were the things he never would have dreamed in a million years. Like the way she managed to wrap herself completely around him before she fell asleep, her warmth lulling him to doze as well, but then when he woke she was curled up on her side in a little ball, only one foot gently resting against his leg. How she had extricated herself without waking either of them was a mystery. Yet when he’d reached out to stroke her shoulder, she’d sighed and rolled back, cuddling up against him once more. He’d watched her for an hour before she actually woke again, and the sleepy smile she gave him when her eyes opened filled a hole in himself that he hadn’t even known was there.

No, he would never forget that night, not if he lived to see a hundred years. Merrill was the first lover he’d ever taken that he wanted to have again. And again, and forever, really. If only it wasn’t impossible. But he knew they would not do this again. Because if they did, he’d never want to stop. His obligations had not changed overnight, after all. He had promised himself to the Chantry, to serve the Maker and Andraste, and the only reason he had been relieved of that promise was to take up the more pressing duty of ruling Starkhaven.

He still did not know which path he would choose, but he knew now that he _had_ been dithering, as Aveline had chided. There was always some excuse to stay longer, some reason he couldn’t go back just yet. But as soon as he had started thinking maybe that meant he should _stay_ , some new information or memory would come along convincing him that his place was in Starkhaven after all. He had been so worried about making the wrong choice, he had decided to make no decision at all. But he could not continue that way any longer. He must decide, and soon. He must weigh what was required of him to meet each duty. There was a greater good to consider, and he would take the path that served it.

But if he was to fulfill either duty, he did not have the luxury of falling in love. That he already had was of no consequence. If he gave in to his feelings for Merrill, he would never choose. He would simply continue on as he had, pretending that his love for her was enough to drown out the contempt he would hold for himself. A small voice in the back of his mind spoke up, suggesting that perhaps there was a third possibility. He could choose to walk away from both paths, and make a new one. But he could not quite bring himself to believe that voice. Without some clear sign that he was made for neither the Chantry nor the throne, he _must_ choose one. It was that simple. He would never regret this night, nor wish to take it back, but it had to end here. He had needed comfort that only Merrill could give him, understanding only she possessed. But in her arms he’d found more than comfort and understanding; he’d also found peace and resolve.

He thought she would understand that.

There was a slim chance she wanted more from him than just this one night. That she had not been simply swept along in desire as he had. But as he lay curled up in bed with her, he could not quite bring himself to initiate the conversation to find out. If she did want more, then his decision would hurt her, and though he knew he would have to live with such an outcome, he was not ready to face the possibility quite so soon. Let them both have a day or two of contentment. Important discussions could wait that long at least. He slipped out of her arms and dressed before dawn, kissing her lightly on the forehead before leaving. He felt a little guilty for not waking her, but it seemed the easiest way to avoid that conversation.

He paused at the front door and turned around, a small frown on his face. He made his way back to her room and stood in the doorway, eyes scanning the small space twice before he finally realized what had caught his attention. The eluvian wasn’t there. He shook his head and looked around again, quietly walking through the house, checking each room. The mirror was nowhere to be seen. He recalled what she had said the other night, about having disposed of some refuse, and comprehension dawned. Eyes wide, he returned to her room and stared down at Merrill’s sleeping form. Surprise warred with pride inside of him, and he leaned down, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “Well done, love,” he whispered. He was smiling as he left, pride winning out. Everyone had been so concerned that she would lose herself to that blasted mirror, and she had managed to rid herself of it all on her own.

She was so much stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Even herself, he suspected. No matter how things fell between them after this, he knew she would weather the storm. He only hoped he could be half so sure about himself. Still, his mind was clear as he made his way back to the Chantry. For the first time in a long while he felt as if he knew what he must do next. He tried not to let it trouble him too much that with every step forward, a small part of him screamed to turn around and go back. But he could not go back. He had made up his mind, and if he was to prove himself worthy of any path that lay before him, it was time to start keeping his promises, even those made to himself.

~~~~

He did not go out of his way to avoid Merrill, but it was still over a week before he saw her again. A spate of illness broke out in Darktown, when Hawke had taken Anders and some of the others to Sundermount on one of her quests. With the mysterious “Darktown Healer” unavailable, Sebastian knew the people of Darktown would need an extra hand getting through the crisis. It was easy enough to convince Elthina to send help, though harder to recruit volunteers to accompany him. But after pointing out that if the sickness was allowed to go unchecked, it would spread to Lowtown and then Hightown with ease, he managed to gather up the assistance he needed. He was kept busy tending to the Darktown residents for several days—passing out blankets, clothing, food, and health potions, trying to ensure those still with their health avoided falling ill as well, and so on. He could not save everyone, but he knew his efforts had made a difference. He was quite relieved when he saw the lanterns outside Anders’ clinic burning three days in. Whatever the man’s faults, he was a healer first. Darktown was better off with him there.

Of course, with all that time spent in proximity to the ill, some of the sisters and brothers who had accompanied him succumbed to the sickness. But with better resources and cleaner living arrangements available to them, they were in nowhere near as much danger as those they had been helping. They did, however, require several days of bed rest and relief from their other duties. As Sebastian remained well, and had been the one to drag them down there in the first place, he felt obligated to help pick up most of the slack. He worked himself nearly to exhaustion, stopping only when Elthina ordered him to bed, lest he wear himself down enough to become ill as well. When Hawke turned up a few days later and asked if he fancied a jaunt to the Wounded Coast, Sebastian couldn’t say yes fast enough. He felt like he hadn’t left the Chantry in months, rather than the few days it had been.

He promised to meet her outside before running up to his room to don his armor. Aveline and Merrill were waiting with Hawke when he stepped outside, drawing a deep breath of fresh air before inclining his head to them. His heart sped up at the sight of Merrill, but though there was a gleam of something he suspected to be amusement in her eyes, her smile of greeting was reserved. He was careful not to let his gaze linger on her, turning back to Hawke to ask the purpose of their trip.

It was Aveline who answered. “One of the nobles approached me to ask if I might arrange a discreet escort for an acquaintance arriving today.” She frowned, adding, “It didn’t take much to realize that by discreet he meant off the books.”

“So of course Aveline asked me,” Hawke chimed in, “rather than compromising any of her guards.” Aveline rolled her eyes but did not deny it. Hawke beamed and put her fingers to her mouth, whistling loudly. Loud barking sounded in the distance, then grew closer as Spiral bounded up to join them. Hawke grinned at the mabari, scratching him behind the ears.

Sebastian cocked an eyebrow at Aveline. “I must say I am surprised you would agree to such a request,” he admitted.

“Ah.” She smiled at him, that small smile that Sebastian hoped never to be the cause of, the one that meant she had the upper hand and the other person in the situation just didn’t know it yet. “I promised his acquaintance would reach Kirkwall safely and with all discretion. I did not promise that this acquaintance would not be in my custody at the time of their arrival, should I deem anything about them suspicious.” She shrugged. “I do not mind helping the citizens of Kirkwall keep their private business private, but I will not have them thinking I will be part of anything untoward. Or that my guards can be roped into their scheming.”

He nodded, impressed. He was not surprised to hear about such a request, especially considering the less than scrupulous habits of Aveline’s predecessor. She could have told the noble no, reinforcing that she was nothing like Jeven, and that neither the guard nor its captain were going to be influenced. But that risked him going behind her back to smuggle this person into the city. In which case, she would not only not know what he was up to, she also chanced letting trouble walk right into Kirkwall, with no way to stop it until it was too late. If the noble was up to something shady, then by agreeing to the escort Aveline could take the acquaintance into custody immediately and nip the trouble in the bud. Which would also send the message that the guard could not be corrupted.

On the other hand, there was always the slim chance that the request was on the level, in which case, Aveline would _want_ to help. It was well known that she was friends with the Champion. Possibly the noble had even hoped she’d go to Hawke. In that case, bringing the acquaintance in safe and sound would show that she could be trusted with sensitive matters and earn her more support in Hightown. She was not deaf to the grumbles about a Fereldan heading up the city guard, nor was she stubborn enough to think that she did not need people with influence backing her up. Whenever the next Viscount was chosen, there was no guarantee they would leave Aveline in her position. Unless, that was, she had enough of the right people to speak up for her. He could see that she was still rankled by the request, but it was a shrewd move on her part to accept. He suspected she had been the one to suggest Hawke recruit him for the trip, as well. His presence on such an outing would not be without its weight, despite how powerless he actually was in Kirkwall. Aveline would do quite well in politics, he observed, smiling and keeping the thought to himself. Doubtless she would not see it as a compliment.

The walk up the coast was pleasant. It was a sunny day, and there was a cool breeze to dispel the worst of the heat. They traveled in companionable silence, Merrill and Sebastian behind Hawke and Aveline, with Spiral trailing along, bringing up the rear of their party. Sebastian was at once grateful for the presence of the two warriors and frustrated by it. He had many things he wished to say to Merrill, more he _needed_ to say, but they could not talk around the others. Despite all of his resolve, despite knowing they did not want to draw the attention of Aveline or Hawke, it was more difficult than he would have expected not to reach out to Merrill. From the careful way she was holding herself, and the distance that remained between them no matter how the path narrowed or widened, he suspected she was going through much the same struggle. Once or twice he caught her shooting an apprehensive look in his direction and he had to bite back a sigh. It seemed the reprieve was over; he could not put off the conversation any longer. As soon as an opportunity presented itself, he would speak with her.

The opportunity came much sooner than he would have hoped. Their party reached the meeting point early, so Hawke and Aveline left Merrill and Sebastian to check over the the site while they secured the perimeter and approach. The site was not large, and it did not take them long to check that everything was as it should be. They found themselves finished long before the other two returned. Sebastian sat down on a boulder while they waited, watching Merrill. He bit his lip, trying to think how to begin.

“You shaved,” she said, coming to sit beside him. She started to reach for his face but stopped herself, letting her hand drop back to to her thigh and tilting her head as she looked him over.

“A necessity, I’m afraid,” he answered with an apologetic smile. “I fear ‘disreputable’ is not a quality that the Chantry likes its representatives to display.”

“No,” she agreed, drawing the word out, “I suppose not.”

She sighed and her fingers twitched, as if she still wished to touch his cheek, to feel the smooth skin for herself. He had to stop himself from leaning in to make it easier for her to do so. He drew a deep breath and reached out to take her hand, glancing around to ensure they were still alone. They would not have much time. “Merrill—” he started.

“Oh, _lethallin,_ I know,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’ve been trying to think of some excuse to come to the Chantry so I could apologize.”

He stared at her, not sure he had heard her correctly. “What do you think you have to apologize for?” he tried at last.

“For the other night,” she answered, surprised. She blinked at him. “For when we--,” she went red, right to the tips of her ears and cleared her throat. She squeezed his hand again, then placed her other one atop it, smiling at him. “It was very nice, of course. But I should not have let it go that far. Even if you are not subject to your vows, you’ve chosen to stay with the Chantry anyway, and to try to live as if you are still sworn, at least until you decide.” She shook her head, turning even redder. Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up, and she pressed on. “You were so upset and out of sorts, I should have known better than to let that happen. I just _wanted_ so much, and, well, I am sorry. I know you never would have—”

Sebastian squeezed her hand this time, stopping her. “You owe me no apologies, Merrill,” he told her. “I have been trying to think of the best way to apologize to you, in fact.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head the other way, and the tips of her ears twitched.

“Yes.” He nodded and sighed. “I was certainly there because I wanted to be with _you_ , and I will cherish our night together. But I should not have given in to my desires, because I cannot promise you anything more than has already happened.” He held her eyes, praying she would understand. “I care for you so much Merrill, but—”

“I care for you very much too, _lethallin_ ,” she said gently. A sad smile played across her face.

He answered it with one of his own. Despite the seriousness of their discussion, he felt a warmth spread through him at the repeated endearment. He remembered that she had called him something else, when they were together. _Ma vhenan_. He wondered what it meant, and almost asked her before thinking better of it. Perhaps it would be best not to know. He gave in to the urge to reach up and brush a stray lock of hair from her face. “If only we were different people,” he sighed. “Maybe we might have a chance.”

“Maybe,” Merrill replied, drawing the word out again. She sounded thoughtful. “But if you were not you and I was not me, who is to say we would feel as we do?”

He narrowed his eyes, unsure if she was teasing him or not. It did not seem as if she was, though, and he supposed she had a point. “I hope I have not managed to harm our friendship,” he said after a moment.

“Of course not!” Merrill exclaimed, her smile widening. “It is not as if I could give you more either.” She bit her lip, as if considering something and then nodded to herself, catching his eyes again. “I am not going to stay in Kirkwall, you see. So it would be silly for me to begin a romance with _any_ one, even you.”

A wave of panic washed over Sebastian, and his hands tightened on Merrill’s. “You’re leaving? When?” Maker, no, it could not be. _Perhaps it is for the best_ , a small voice whispered. If she was not here, it would be easier to forget his feelings for her. But the thought of not seeing her at all was too much.

“I do not know,” Merrill said, blinking at his reaction. “Not right away. I’ve agreed to go with Isabela when she takes to sea again.”

“Oh!” Sebastian sat back, letting go of her hands at last. It would be a few weeks at the earliest before Isabela was ready to leave Kirkwall, he knew that much. She had been taking her time with preparations for some reason. It could be months still. That gave him time, at least. For what, he couldn’t have said. To get used to the idea of never seeing Merrill again, perhaps? It was a dreary thought. “Well,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic, “that should be fun for you.”

“I certainly hope so,” she said with a small laugh. “It will all depend on whether or not she’s right that I can actually stomach traveling on a ship.”

“I suspect she probably is,” he said. Thinking out loud, he added, “I suppose there’s really nothing left here for you, with the mirror gone.”

Merrill gave a small start, her eyes going wide. “You noticed!”

“Ah, yes, as I was,” he felt his face redden and cleared his throat, “as I was leaving, I realized it was not there anymore. That’s what you got rid of, when you were cleaning, is it not?”

She nodded and he smiled at her. After a moment she relaxed and smiled back. “It was time to move on,” she said softly. “Life has not turned out at all as I had expected, but that does not mean there is nothing to look forward to.”

“You are right there,” he agreed.

The sound of approaching voices reached them, carried by the wind, and they both stood as Hawke and Aveline rounded a large outcropping. Nodding to indicate all was clear, they joined Sebastian and Merrill at the boulders and the four set in to wait for their appointment, ready for the business at hand. Sebastian shot one sidelong glance at Merrill before pushing the matter to the back of his mind. He felt at once relieved and disappointed. To find out she felt the same way he did, but also agreed they couldn’t risk it...well. He was glad she had understood. That was good, it truly was. But he couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t understood quite so well.

~~~~

Still, after the conversation at the coast, Sebastian felt much more at ease around Merrill. At last they knew where they stood with each other, and that was freeing in its own way. He had worried things might turn awkward, but instead they were just comfortable. There was no need to keep their distance anymore, after all. They could just be friends. Although it wasn’t _always_ that easy. There were some moments that made it more difficult to accept that they could be nothing more than that.

One night, about two weeks later, the group gathered at the Hanged Man for drinks and cards in Varric’s rooms. Before the evening could really get underway, however, the sound of music drifted up to them from the main room and Isabela perked up. “I’ll be damned! Corff’s hired a band!” She would not rest until they agreed to move their party downstairs so they could listen to the musicians play. If that had been it, the evening probably would have passed without imprinting itself on Sebastian’s mind. But no, Isabela was not content to just listen to the music. She wanted to dance.

One by one, she pulled each of them up for a dance, cajoling them into spinning her around the open space on the floor. Sebastian tried to refuse (nor was he the only one) but Isabela was hearing nothing of it. She danced with all of them, and her enthusiasm was infectious. Before long, they all found themselves dancing together as well, switching off partners at the end of each song, with half the tavern joining in, and the other half jeering, applauding, or catcalling as they saw fit. It reminded Sebastian of some of the more enjoyable evenings from his youth, actually, and he would have given much not to have drawn that comparison just moments before finding himself with an armful of Merrill.

“Oh, good, it’s you!” she breathed when she realized who her new partner was.

Sebastian could not help grinning at her reaction. “Who else might I be?”

“No, one, I hope!” She giggled, and he realized she had indulged in more drink than was her custom, most likely due to a thirst worked up while dancing. She had been one of the first to join in with Isabela. “You know how to do this properly. I can rest for a bit while you lead.” She glanced up at him, eyes wide, “You do, don’t you?”

“Know how to dance?” Sebastian arched one brow at her, then winked. “Of course, my dear.”

“That’s nice. I am tired of my toes being stepped on.”

“I promise,” he said, taking her hands, “your toes are safe from me.”

She laughed in delight as he whirled her around the small dance floor. His heart leapt at the sound and for just a moment, he was able to forget everything but her. The feel of her body moving with his had his heart racing and brought to mind images of their bodies moving together in other rhythms. It was a delight and a torment all at once.

The song was over much too soon for his liking, but as he moved to bow to her, she tightened her hold on his hand. “Oh please, no, don’t make me dance with anyone else. That was too nice.”

He tried to cover up his surprise with a laugh, but he nodded and took up position for the next dance as the music changed. Her eyes were wide, he saw, and she was breathing more heavily than their exertions could explain. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one remembering. His lips quirked up at the edges, then his hand went to her waist and she sighed, taking a step closer, feet moving nimbly to the rhythm. “You dance well,” he observed.

“The Dalish do dance, you know,” she said in an amused tone. “The steps aren’t that different, although the music is.”

“I would like to hear Dalish music some time,” he said.

“Really?”

“Of course,” he answered, turning serious eyes on her.

She beamed at him and he smiled back, hands tightening where he touched her. Just enough to affirm the contact. He was unable to take his eyes off of her for the rest of the dance, or the next. After that, the music stopped, the band calling it a night. It was all he could do not to pull her in for a kiss once the music stopped, and he silently chastised himself as they rejoined the group in Varric’s rooms. Just because they both agreed nothing more could happen, it didn’t stop him from wanting her. Anyone with eyes had likely seen that as they danced. He held his breath as he took his seat, careful to choose one away from Merrill. She was flushed and her eyes glittered with happiness, but if she was fighting the same feelings as Sebastian, she did not show it.

Thankfully, none of the group seemed to have noticed, and they were all lost in their own conversations as Varric finally started passing out cards. Well, he amended, almost no one. He could not help but see the speculative look Isabela was giving him and Merrill as she pretended to study her hand. Nor did he miss the smile of clear satisfaction that crossed her lips. He sighed and tried not to let it bother him. Neither of them had told Isabela about what had happened. It wasn’t any of her business, as far as he was concerned, and Merrill had agreed. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Isabela still knew. At least she had stopped throwing them together. Maybe now she could consider her mission complete and leave them be.

He couldn’t decide if that made him happy or not.

~~~~

Life returned to its normal rhythms, and Sebastian felt more at peace than he could remember since learning of his family’s murders. This did not go unnoticed, and he had many long discussions with Elthina about his future. Although he still believed he had a duty to his family to take up the throne of Starkhaven, he was starting to think that such a path was not for him. He thought now that he _could_ rule, and do it well. But actually retaking the throne would require support he did not have. More than that, it would throw his people into the middle of a civil war. Innocent lives would be lost if he marched on the city, and he could not quite countenance being the cause of that. From everything he had been able to learn while trying to build up his contacts, his cousin was doing a commendable job of ruling. With Lady Harimann’s influence out of the way, he had turned into a just and competent Prince. Was it fair to Starkhaven to overthrow the peace because the “wrong” Vael was on the throne? He couldn’t quite bring himself to think that it was.

So his attention turned to renewing his devotions. He had, after all, come to enjoy life in the Chantry. He had been content doing the Maker’s work until the last remnants of his old life had fallen apart, pulling him back into a world he had thought he’d left behind. But he had only been pulled partway, left to stand outside two worlds, looking in, unsure which to rejoin. He thought he knew, now. But it meant distancing himself from those things that were outside his Chantry work. Like Hawke, and her friends. _His_ friends, Fenris, Isabela, Merrill. He was almost glad to know they were leaving, because once they had, there would be nothing outside of the Chantry for him to cling to. He could devote himself completely to Andraste and the Maker once more, and all would be well. Though he knew he was still dithering, this time it felt different. He was at peace with the hesitation, because it had a clear end in sight.

Then the world exploded and he feared peace was a thing he would never know again.

~~~~

Sebastian stared at the place in the sky where the Chantry had stood, fists clenched at his sides. A bright beam of light, a quake of the ground, and it was gone, taking everything he had cared about with it. No, that wasn’t true. Not everything. His eyes fell on Merrill, her face hard as she stared at Anders. Then his gaze moved to Isabela beside her, looking shocked, and for the first time since he’d known her, truly sad. He struggled to his feet, turning to Hawke, eyes pleading, hoping she’d have the strength to do what must be done. But she looked just as lost as he felt. Not as angry though, and that worried him.

He looked to Meredith next. Surely she of all people would be calling for Anders’ execution, would have her sword ready to do the task herself. He could only stare in shock as she instead called for Annulment. The mages in the Gallows had nothing to do with this! A fact that the First Enchanter was quick to point out, though he seemed no more eager to hold Anders responsible than Meredith had. Sebastian could scarcely believe his eyes or his ears. Had the entire world gone mad? Then the Knight Commander and First Enchanter both just…walked away. Meredith to kill any mage she could get her hands on other than the one who had done this heinous thing, Orsino to stop her. Neither one of them seemed to care one bit that they were leaving Anders to walk free.

Hawke was still staring at Anders, exchanging words with him that Sebastian could not hear over the rage and pain buzzing in his head. He did hear when she turned to the group to ask for their opinions. He didn’t know why she bothered, it was clear she would make her own choice. Sebastian’s demands she dismissed out of hand, with a none so gentle rebuke, and it hurt more than he would have expected. But not as much as when Merrill called for Hawke to let Anders live. The rage boiled over and the words left his mouth before he could even think to pull them back. The ultimatum was issued, a threat that he and Hawke both knew to be empty. But he could not keep silent. Always, _always_ , he had hoped and prayed for the healer in Anders to win out. He had never expected the man’s demon to win so thoroughly. To turn him into the murderer of innocents. How was that justice? It wasn’t even vengeance. It was only _pain_.

But even as he called for Hawke to avenge Elthina, to give Anders the death he deserved, he knew why she wouldn’t do it. Could he, if it had been Merrill, no matter what she had done? No, he knew he couldn’t. Nor could Hawke. _Merrill would never have done such a thing, though,_ he told himself, _that’s not her way. She takes the pain herself, doesn’t spread it to others to make her point._

Very well then. His threat to return with an army might be empty, but he had meant part of it. He would not remain with them, not when she meant to let Anders live. He would take his leave. But first, he would do what must be done. He shook his head and drew a deep breath, already turning to Anders before Hawke’s decision was spoken, reaching back to draw an arrow from his quiver. A hand on his arm stopped him and he looked down, surprised blue eyes meeting determined green ones.

“Everyone deserves a chance at redemption,” she whispered. “Let him live with what he’s done. Make him stay to help put it right.”

“What Anders has done is beyond redemption,” he insisted. “It was murder. No, more than that. He _slaughtered_ innocents! I cannot stand aside and let him walk away from that!”

“Will you go, then?” She frowned slightly. Not disappointment, he thought, but worry. For him.

He was tempted. He had said he would, and meant it. Maker knew he could not look at Anders without his fingers twitching for his bow. And if he did act out on that desire, Hawke would waste not one second before cutting him down. He didn’t have to see the way she was watching him to know that. “Do not interfere,” she had said. If he wasn’t to interfere, then he should just leave now, while he could.

“I don’t know what else I can do,” he told Merrill, unable to keep the pleading out of his tone. He was so tired of feeling lost. He had finally thought he had figured out which path to take, but that was gone now. What kind of Chantry brother was he, to let his rage consume him so? Especially after he had already ventured down that road before. He might call it justice, but when he looked at Anders, there was murder in his heart. He wanted to hurt the man as he had been hurt. That was not justice, even if it had been his place to dispense it. Which it wasn’t. Not at all. He was no better than Anders if he carried through with his desire in this.

So he had chosen poorly, after all. He could never fully devote himself to the Chantry, not when he was so prone to submit to his emotions. Not when he could look at all of the destruction before him and see only what _he_ had lost. But he could not be the Prince of Starkhaven, either. That was clear now as well. No ruler deserving of the throne would swear to use his nation’s armies to raze a city for revenge on one man. For a petty personal vendetta. Five minutes of chaos and pain were all it had taken to prove he was worthy of neither path before him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them again and meeting Merrill’s calm gaze. A small burst of hope flared up within him. Maybe that third path wasn’t impossible after all.

Her worry faded, giving way to resolve, and her hand tightened on his arm. “Stay,” she said. “Fight. Help _us_. Help all of those other innocents that are still in danger now.”

Sebastian turned his head, eyes falling upon Anders’ hunched back. His fingers twitched again, but he stilled his hand of his own accord. Whether he stayed or not, people would be hurt, would die. Not just mages, either. Fighting was likely to spread through the whole city before this was over. He could not save them all, but he could save some. He knew now he was neither a prince nor a brother. But was he the sort of man to walk away, knowing that his help could make a difference? Without a doubt, every mage Meredith and the Templars could get their hands on _would_ die before the day was out. The more people fighting to stop her, the more lives that would be saved. Did he believe the mages deserved to die, simply because they had been born with magic? He turned back to Merrill, hand relaxing around his bow. No, no he did not. He nodded once, and she relaxed as well, smiling at him. Her tension was still there, he could see that she knew there was plenty of trouble ahead of them, but the relief in her eyes was clear.

“All right then, if we’re all doing this,” Hawke drawled, catching everyone’s attention, “let’s move out. We need to get to the Gallows.”

Sebastian ignored her, falling in beside Merrill as the group began making their way across the city. He kept as much distance between himself and Anders as he could, trying not to even look at the man. To his surprise, Fenris took up his other side, Isabela beside him. Noticing his raised eyebrows, Fenris shrugged and tilted his head toward Isabela. Sebastian took that to mean that she had convinced him to stay, as Merrill had with him. Fenris looked uneasy about his choice, but he met Sebastian’s eyes and said, “Magic or not, they do not deserve to be punished for another man’s crimes.” Sebastian nodded and glanced around, realizing that none of Hawke’s companions had left. Only Aveline was missing, and that was to gather up the city guards to try keeping the damage outside of the Gallows to a minimum.

He supposed it was a testament to the loyalty Hawke had inspired in them after all these years. But even as the thought occurred to him, he knew it was not why he stayed. He had seen in Hawke’s eyes that she would not have cared if he left. Whatever friendship was between them had died. He was still here because Merrill had asked it of him. One last fight with Hawke, and then whatever came next, he was done with the Champion of Kirkwall.

~~~~

“Andraste’s ass, I was not expecting _that_!” Varric panted, trying to catch his breath like the rest of them once Orsino was finally taken down.

Sebastian stared at what was left of the First Enchanter with a mixture of anger and horror. He exchanged a glance with Fenris, and from his friend’s grimace, knew he was not the only one regretting their decision to help the mages. At least half of the mages they’d encountered had turned to blood magic when the Templars attacked, turning on friend and foe alike as their demons took over. The Gallows was littered with the bodies of abominations. He closed his eyes and tried to marshal his breaths, fearing he might be ill.

“Come away, _lethallin_ ,” Merrill said softly. “Drink this.” She pushed a restorative potion into his hand and he drank it without resistance.

“He stood up against Meredith’s accusations and abuses for decades without turning to blood magic,” Sebastian said, unable to look away. “Why would he resort to that now, of all times? Why risk his charges this way?”

“Because he was scared,” she said, “and he didn’t think we can win. Because he thought he had nothing left to lose or to live for, assumed none of the rest of them did either. Because he didn’t understand, and he thought he knew better than anyone else. He was _wrong_.”

Sebastian looked at her then, and saw her hands clenched, her eyes sparking. Not with fear, he realized, but with anger. He could practically feel the magic radiating from her. He reached up, brushing a splash of blood from her cheek. Letting his thumb trace the lines of her _vallaslin_ , he held her eyes. “He was a strong mage, Merrill, one of the strongest I have ever known. If he could succumb to the demons—”

“Shhh, _ma vhenan_.” She pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. Her words were kind but her face was grim. “Now is not the time for this discussion. We’ve still Meredith to face.”

She gestured to the small group of mages, clustered together on the far side of the room. Eight were all that was left of the dozen that had volunteered to fight with them. Four more had remained behind with the intention of protecting the children and the Tranquil. Everyone else was dead. Meredith might get her Annulment in the end anyway, no matter how hard they fought. “At least they’ve seen what can happen now,” Merrill said, keeping her voice quiet. “It’s more than just stories about monsters used to frighten them into behaving. They know the risks now, and how easy it is for even the strong to falter. I promise you not a single one of them will turn to blood magic lightly if they survive this night. Probably never at all.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sebastian sighed. He took one of her hands in his own, pulling it open and smoothing his fingers over her palm, smearing the blood over the cut there, wishing there was some way to put it _back_. “But what about you?”

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. “I risk no one but myself, Sebastian, and I made my choices long ago. I did not do so lightly, either. When this is over,” she pulled her hand free and moved it to tip up his chin, catching his eyes, “then we will discuss the matter at length. I will answer any questions you have, and then you will have your own choice to make, I think.” She glanced over to the entryway, where the others were gathering up. “But for now, our attention is required elsewhere.”

He swallowed and nodded. “As you say, love.” Her eyes softened and she smiled at him, taking his hand again and giving it a gentle squeeze before lacing their fingers together. He looked down at her for a moment, trying to memorize her face, the moment. He returned her smile after a long moment and leaned down, cupping her face with his free hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He started to straighten up, but Merrill grabbed him and pressed herself against him, deepening the kiss, and he held her tightly, kissing back.

When at last they pulled apart, they exchanged nods and turned to join their companions. Sebastian did his best to ignore the look of shock on Fenris’ face and the victorious gloat on Isabela’s. Instead, he held on to Merrill’s hand tightly and turned his attention to Hawke’s orders. No one else seemed to have noticed their shared moment, their attention focused on Hawke.

They reached the others and then they were moving down the corridor, heading for what he hoped would be the last stand of this conflict. As they walked he closed his eyes, content to let Merrill guide him, and began to pray. For his friends, for the mages, for Hawke. Maker, but he hoped she knew what she was doing, and that he had done right by taking her side. He did not bother praying for himself though. What else could he have done, with Merrill at her side? Walking away would have been worse, and he would not pretend otherwise.

Most of all, he prayed for Merrill, and hoped she would forgive him the presumption, though he suspected she would understand. She always did, when it came to him. He thought maybe that was why he loved her. She understood when no one else seemed to even care.

_Andraste, hear my prayer. She may not be one of yours, but she is dearer to me than my own life. Do not lead her astray, I beg you. Keep her safe through this, no matter what befalls me._


	6. Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the battle in the Gallows, Merrill and Sebastian must both figure out what comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it folks, that's all she wrote! Thank you so much for reading along. I hope you've enjoyed the ride!

Merrill hadn’t been with them in the deep roads when they’d found the lyrium idol. She was quite glad of it now, seeing what it had done to Meredith. How much trouble would have been saved, she wondered, if Bartrand had told Hawke the name of the woman he’d sold the idol to? Even from the other side of the courtyard, she could feel the pull of the red lyrium. It was a hundred times more tempting than the demon song she heard each time she pulled strength from her blood. A thousand times more frightening. Could she have resisted, if she had been close enough to the cursed thing to touch? She didn’t think she cared to find out.

From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the Circle mages drifting across the courtyard in a daze, drawn to the power of the idol. Meredith hadn’t seen him yet, so Merrill called to the vines from a nearby column. They snagged the boy and pulled him into a corner, where Merrill put him to sleep, then she pulled up a wall of rock in front of him. That should keep him safe until the fighting ended. She hoped. A cry from Sebastian at her back turned her attention to the giant statue approaching them. She sent a stream of rock shooting at it, blasting off the arm that was swinging toward them, sword in hand. The arm sheared off at the elbow, falling loudly to the ground, but the statue kept coming.

Whatever magic Meredith was using to control them only seemed to last for short bursts. Merrill knew they just had to hold it off until this burst was over. She called up a protective barrier around Sebastian and set her feet, planting her staff and willing the ground to shift. It carried her in front of him, and she nearly stumbled when she stopped moving. She muttered a curse and reached for her dagger. This fight had gone on too long. Behind her, she heard a small noise of objection from Sebastian as she cut into her arm, but she paid him no mind. The statue was still coming. She sighed softly as the power flowed through her again, pushing the voices that came with it to the back of her mind. Raising her hands, she called more stone, hurling it at the statue. It faltered in its progress and she used that hesitation to encase its legs in more stone, bringing it to a standstill.

She wheeled on her feet, staff already up again, ensnaring the Templar that had been creeping up behind Sebastian. His eyes widened at the motion but then he caught on, turning as well, his dagger ready as Merrill dropped the shield around him. He did not kill the man, she noticed, instead using the tip of the dagger to get under the edge of the man’s helmet so he could pull it off and knock the man out. Merrill didn’t know whether to be proud or to roll her eyes. Instead, she pushed the Templar into another corner, erecting a wall of rock around him as she had with the mage. By now there were more than a few of those walls scattered around the edge of the courtyard—friends and foes alike. Sebastian seemed determined not to kill anyone if they could be incapacitated instead, and many of the younger mages could not hold their own against Meredith’s idol. Better to get them all out of the way, Merrill thought, than to risk enemies rallying at an inconvenient time or allies getting injured or killed when they grew weak.

“I could have put him to sleep, you know,” she pointed out as they turned back to the fight.

“Save your strength for bigger foes,” he returned.

She did not miss the way his eyes shot to the trail of blood dripping from her elbow, nor the troubled look that flashed across his face before their attention was called back to the battle. She bit back a sigh as they fell into their usual routine once more. Yes, they would certainly be having a long talk when all of this was over.

~~~~

Merrill slumped down against a column, weary to her very bones. She had made three circuits of the courtyard and was certain she had released everyone she’d pulled out of the fight. Cullen’s supporters were rounding up the surviving mages, as well as the Templars that had sided with Meredith. She was pleased to see that the latter were under custody while the former were being treated with all courtesy. Cullen himself was conferring with Hawke and Aveline in front of what was left of Meredith. Isabela and Fenris hovered behind them, just close enough to listen to the conversation. Not far off, Varric seemed to be doing the same. Not one of them looked happy. _Not that they should be happy,_ she mused. _This whole thing was an absolute mess._ She glanced at the steps leading up into the building, where Anders sat by himself, watching Hawke closely. He was biting his lip, apprehension clear in every line of his body. She wondered when it would sink in just how many people he had gotten killed today. He was a healer at heart, and she had no doubt it would be a terrible burden to live with. _It_ should _be hard though_ , she told herself. Still, she couldn’t help but be relieved that he had stayed to help at least try to make it right. She hoped that what he had done would be worth it to him one day. If not, well. She glanced down at her hands. She knew what it was like to have to live with your mistakes. She hoped Anders was strong enough to do so.

A stone skittered by her leg and she glanced up in time to see Sebastian sink down beside her. He looked even more exhausted than she felt, and very close to his breaking point. She reached out, offering her hand, and he took it in one of his own, lacing their fingers together. She squeezed his fingers but remained silent, watching him as he stared across the courtyard. He looked shaken to his very core.

“If I had woken up just a little bit later, or taken my time over breakfast this morning,” he said in a creaky voice, “I would have still been in the Chantry when—” he stopped, choked off by a sob. Merrill scooted closer to him, leaning against his side to offer what comfort she could.

“But you weren’t,” she said, her voice firm and clear.

“No, but it was such a close thing,” he whispered. He drew a deep breath, not looking at her as he said, “And I’ll always wonder if it might not have been better if I had been there instead.”

“You don’t mean that!” Merrill did not bother trying to hide the note of panic that crept into her voice. She reached up, grabbing his chin, turning him to face her. “ _Ma vhenan_ , you don’t mean that,” she repeated, smoothing out her tone. “I know it hurts, and it won’t stop hurting for a long time, if it ever does. But surely it’s better to be alive?” _With me?_

He looked at her, tears spilling silently from his eyes. Slowly, he nodded, squeezing her hand before leaning forward, resting his forehead against hers. “Yes, you’re right. You are. I just…I am being selfish again.” He gave a small, mirthless laugh, and it quickly dissolved into sobs.

Merrill slipped her hand from his, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. “How so?”

He drew several steadying breaths, making a visible effort to get himself under control. When at last he spoke, he was quiet, his voice a mix of shame and resentment. “It would be easier,” he admitted, “to not have to go on. To not have to live with the guilt of wondering every day if I could have stopped this somehow. To know that I failed her in so many ways.” His breath hitched again and he paused.

Merrill stroked his back, a small frown on her face as she tried to think of the right thing to say. She was at a loss, so she just held him closer.

“If I had fallen in battle, perhaps that would have been an honorable end,” he continued. “But I didn’t, and now I must live with what has happened. With all of my own failings.” He reached out, fingers brushing one of the cuts on her arms, sticky with drying blood and already half healed. “I must live with the fact that despite all that has happened, I am still glad to be here with you. But how do I do that, I wonder, knowing the price of my life?”

“The same way you always have, I would imagine,” Merrill answered. She drew the words out, trying to keep herself from snapping at him.

The response startled Sebastian into sitting up. Wide blue eyes stared at her, the question in them clear.

“It’s hardly the first time I’ve used blood magic to save you,” she said gently.

He let out a slow breath, slumping back against the column, his eyes slipping shut. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

Merrill watched him, tilting her head, lips pursed. From the corner of her eye, she could see a barge making its way for the Gallows, the dying light of the sun bouncing off the armor of the passengers. Whatever Hawke was discussing with Cullen and Aveline, they were running out of time. A burst of anxiety quelled her annoyance and she reached for patience. She reminded herself that Sebastian had lost someone he cared about very much, as well as the future he had finally settled on for himself. _Then_ he had been asked to fight alongside the man who had taken all of that from him, against the things he had so long upheld as right and just. Was it any wonder if he was taking it all badly, now that the fighting was done and the full import of the day was starting to sink in?

“I am sorry, _lethallin_ ,” she whispered, reaching up to trace a finger along his cheek. He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes, staring at the group in the middle of the courtyard. Merrill bit her lip and tried again. “I love you,” she told him, heart feeling lighter for just having said it out loud at last. “I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Would you really have me stand by and let you be hurt or worse, when it is within my power to save you? You’re not the only one who can be selfish, you know.” The corners of his lips quirked up and she pressed her advantage. “I could not bear to lose you like that. Would you have done any different, in my place?”

“No,” he whispered, closing his eyes again. She knew he was remembering the Templar from Lowtown. “I would not.”

Merrill drew a deep breath, needing to say something else. “This is part of me, Sebastian. It is who I am. I will not change, not even for you.”

His eyes snapped open and he turned to her. “I would not ask you to!” She smiled then, and nodded. He smiled back, a hesitant smile, but a smile all the same. “What does _ma vhenan_ mean?”

Merrill felt her face go red, and the tips of her ears twitched, but she looked him in the eyes as she answered. “My heart.”

“I like that,” he said, reaching up and tracing lightly over her _vallaslin_. “ _Ma vhenan_. Yes, it suits quite well.” His smile faltered and he let his hand drop, looking away again. “Although I cannot imagine why you call me so. I hardly deserve it.” He sighed. “I am a mess, Merrill. Why would you want me? I cannot even decide what it is I should do with my life.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” she pointed out. “You keep worrying over what you _should_ do rather than what you _want_ to do. You grew to like the Chantry life, but it was never what you would have chosen for yourself. Neither was ruling Starkhaven, I think.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed. “But after all this time, I don’t even know what else I could want. Where will I go now?”

“Surely another Chantry will have you, if you are still determined to follow that life,” Merrill offered, keeping her voice as reassuring as she could. She brushed at a smudge of dirt on his face, but only managed to make it worse. She gave it up and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear instead.

“After I sided with Hawke in this?” He sighed and shook his head, but offered a warm smile when he wrapped his hand around hers. Sad, but warm. That was something. “No, love, I cannot go back to the Chantry. Even if I thought I’d be welcome, it would hurt too much. Besides,” he added, a bitter note entering his voice as the edges of his mouth turned down, “I think I’ve proved today that I do not belong in Chantry anymore. I am far too quick to anger. I thought I had grown past it, but—” He sighed again, dropping his hand into his lap, avoiding her eyes.

Merrill tucked a finger under his chin, bringing him back around, making him face her. “You had every reason to be angry, _ma vhenan_. You have lost much. We have all said things we did not truly mean, in the heat of such moments.”

“Yes, but as a member of the Chantry, I should be able to marshal my reactions. It is my place to offer guidance and comfort to others, no matter my own feelings. But I could think of nothing but what I had lost,” he took her hand again, squeezing it, “and what I had not. I thought that I had learned self-control, and I suppose in many ways I have, but it is not enough for that life. I think now I may never be what I was trying to become here.”

Merrill nodded slowly, smiling and squeezing his hand in return. “Well, then,” she tried to keep her voice light, “you could still return to Starkhaven?”

The laugh was unexpected. It was short, and harsh, but something in it gave her hope. She blinked at him, waiting for him to get his breathing under control, but from the way he was shaking his head, she already knew the answer to his question. “Maker, no,” he got out at last. “If I had any doubts left that I am unfit to rule, they were put to rest today. The rules might be different for a brother and a prince, but the required temperament, I fear, is much the same. Hasty words spoken without thought by a prince could start a war. No,” he shook his head again, “I do not belong in Starkhaven. Nor would I want to go back there now.” He held her eyes, squeezing her hand again, harder than before, “I will not go someplace where you will not be welcome, Merrill.”

Warmth swelled inside of her, and she bit her lip to keep the smile from taking over her face. “Well,” she drawled, “Isabela doesn’t have a full crew yet. There’s plenty of room on her ship, if you wanted to come with us.” She paused, tilting her head. She did not want him to choose her because she was the only option. “At the very least,” she added after a moment, “she can take you away from here, until you decide where you would like to go. In case being a pirate is not for you.”

“Oh good, you’ve already asked him to come with us.”

Merrill and Sebastian both jumped, turning to find Isabela standing in front of them. Her eyes kept sliding to the water and Merrill knew the barge had almost reached them.

“Well, come on then,” she said, gesturing to them both before turning to head for the dock. “We need to get out of here,” she called back over her shoulder. “Now. If we want to get my ship out of the harbor before it’s closed down, we’ve got to go.”

Not waiting for their answer, Isabela kept walking. Sebastian and Merrill exchanged a startled glance before scrambling up and following her. Fenris was waiting in a small boat, just out of sight of where the barge would dock. Varric was with him. Merrill glanced around, looking for the others. Aveline stood in the courtyard with Cullen, her shoulders set, ready to face the newcomers. Of Hawke and Anders, she saw no sign. They were apparently finding their own way out of the Gallows. They reached the boat just after Isabela, clambering inside as quietly as they could. Fenris handed Sebastian an oar, and the two of them set to rowing, slipping away from the Gallows unseen.

~~~~

“I hope you don’t have anything you’re going to regret leaving behind, Kitten,” Isabela apologized as they boarded her ship. “We’ve no time to lose. The tide’s with us and if we don’t leave now, we might not get the chance.”

“Oh no,” Merrill said with a smile. “I didn’t have much to begin with, and I think I’ve gotten most of the important things onto the ship already anyway.” She could not help but glance at Sebastian when she said this, and was rewarded with a smile from him and a knowing chuckle from Isabela.

“Good. Then we set sail now. Do either of you have a destination in mind that I should be setting course for?” She gave Sebastian a pointed look and he shook his head. “All right, then. Antiva’s always nice this time of year.” She turned away, calling out orders for the crew to get underway. Glancing back over her shoulder, she added, “We’ve enough hands to get us out of the harbor, at least. So why don’t you two find somewhere out of the way to settle in until I can figure out what you’ll actually be doing.”

Merrill nodded in agreement. She and Isabela had planned for her to start learning how to work the ship in the next few weeks, but right now she’d probably be about as helpful as an underfoot toddler. Unless, of course, someone decided to chase them. With that in mind, she took Sebastian’s hand and pulled him to the back of the ship, climbing the steps to the upper deck and settling in against the aft railing. She wanted to be ready to help defend them, if it was needed.

Isabela had not been joking about the harbor closing. There was a flurry of activity at the docks, and she could see guards and other armored figures moving about with purpose. It seemed that Kirkwall was in the process of being locked down. Considering all the ways in and out of the city, Merrill wasn’t so sure this would do much good, but she supposed the people in charge felt like they had to do something. Their ship slipped out of the harbor just as the earsplitting sound of the chains between the Twins being pulled taut rang out. No one else would be getting in or out of Kirkwall by ship for the next little while. One positive side of this was that no one was chasing them. Merrill stood at the stern for over an hour, just in case, but she saw no signs of pursuit.

Sighing, she turned and slid down to sit beside Sebastian, who had been leaning against the railing with his eyes closed the whole time. Night had fallen, and she was beginning to feel just how long a day it had been. She leaned against his shoulder, smiling when he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Mmm, I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“No, I was just thinking.”

When he didn’t elaborate any further, she bit her lip. They needed to have an actual discussion about what they were doing, and the sooner the better. She drew in a deep breath and then released it. “You said you won’t ask me to change.”

“I won’t,” he agreed.

“Do you trust me?”

Sebastian hesitated not one second before answering, “With my life.”

“And with _mine_?”

She glanced up at his face and saw his eyes snap open, widening in surprise. Then his brow furrowed and he pulled back so that he could give her a long look. He seemed to be giving her question serious thought. Good.

“You’re saying that you risk no one but yourself with the blood magic,” he said at last, his voice soft and uncertain.

“Yes. I am not a child, or a fool. I know that it is dangerous, and I know that there are risks. But I believe that I can manage them. Demons appeal to a desire for power, and that is not why I turned to this magic.” She hesitated, drawing another breath. “I know that your Chantry teaches that blood magic is wrong, that there is no ambiguity. But I am asking you to consider that they teach this as much to serve their own purposes as to keep mages from harming anyone.”

He was quiet for a long time, and she feared she had angered him. But he needed to understand that the Chantry did not speak for all of Thedas, as much as it might wish to. At last, Sebastian reached out and took one of her hands, lacing their fingers together. “The Chantry is not without its political ambitions,” he admitted. “Even I know that much. I can’t pretend to say I believe it is right, or that I won’t worry, but…” he sighed, leaning his forehead against hers. “But you were not raised under Chantry law, and its beliefs are not the beliefs of your people. It is unfair to expect you to accept them just because it is what I have always been taught. I do trust you, Merrill, and you’re right. That means trusting you to make your own decisions in this as well.”

“And can you accept that?” she pressed, needing him to think about this now, before this went too far. _As if it hasn’t already_ , she thought. “Can you truly stand by me as an apostate and a blood mage? Will your conscience allow it? Your honor?”

“I love you for who you are,” he answered, voice soft. “I would not have you any other way, and I know you will not use your magic to hurt others. I think, in the end, my duty was more to Elthina than to the Chantry itself. And what she wanted was for me to be _sure_. The only thing I am sure about is that I want to be with you. So yes, I can put my qualms to rest. It may take time, but I can do it.” In the dim light she could just see him smile, and she relaxed against him, knowing he meant it. “So, my heart,” he said after a moment. “Shall we become pirates together, then?”

“Oh yes, let’s!” She clapped her hands together and leaned up to kiss him, giggling when he swept her into his lap.

This was nice, she couldn’t help but think. Just sitting with him like this, kissing, _playing_. So many terrible things had happened to lead them up to this point, but for the first time she let herself really start to hope that they could make something good out of it all the same. She broke away with a contented sigh, leaning her head against his chest and tracing her fingers up and down his arm. He kissed the top of her head, laughing softly.

“When I was a boy, my favorite stories were always the ones with pirates in them,” he mused, wrapping his arms around her waist. “And mages,” he admitted after a moment, giving her a squeeze.

“Then maybe you’re in exactly the right place now,” Merrill replied with a giggle.

“Maybe I am.”

“Well now,” a new voice drawled from nearby. “Isn’t this a sweet picture. And a surprising one. It’s certainly not a plot twist _I_ would have written.” A beam of light spilled across them and they looked up to find Varric, holding a lantern. He was watching them with an intent expression. Merrill did not miss the way his eyes narrowed when they moved to Sebastian. She felt her happy mood trying to slip away, and she opened her mouth to snap at Varric, but Sebastian gave her another gentle squeeze and she bit her lip instead. After a moment, Varric seemed to relax a bit, having seen something to put him at ease. He tilted his head, giving Merrill a long look. “This is what you want, Daisy?”

“Yes,” she said shortly.

“You’re sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” and Creators, she loved Varric like a brother but if he didn’t stop talking right now she was going to set his shoes on fire. Only she probably really shouldn’t. Fire was likely a bad idea on a ship. She frowned, trying to think of some other way to express her annoyance.

“Hmph.” Varric turned back to Sebastian. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but after a glance at Merrill he seemed to change his mind. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right. Looks like you are. Rivaini said to tell you dinner’s in her cabin in two hours.” He gave them both a little bow and then turned, striding away into the darkness.

Sebastian let out a loud breath after Varric was gone, a frown crossing his face. “I guess he doesn’t approve,” he said in a dry tone.

“Does that bother you?” Merrill turned to him, curious.

“Only if it bothers you,” he said, tucking one of her braids behind her ear. “I know the two of you are close. I don’t want to cause problems for you.”

“I don’t think it’s any of his business,” Merrill answered with a shrug. “If he can’t be happy for us, then the problem is his, not mine. Besides,” she shot him a sly look. “Give Isabela time, I am sure she’ll talk him around. She seems more than all right with the idea of us together.”

Sebastian barked out laugh. “That she does,” he agreed, “and it is her ship, after all.” He smiled, pulling her closer. “It’s good to know we’ve at least one friend in our camp.”

“Yes.” Merrill extricated herself and stood, stretching her arms above her head before glancing down at Sebastian. She felt her face warm when she caught the appreciative smile on his face. She held out a hand to help him up as well. “Come on, we may as well go below until dinner. We should at least get cleaned up a bit, and I can show you our cabin. Well, my cabin, really, but I figured we can share. Unless you don’t want to, of course, and that’s perfectly all right, it is quite tiny after all, but—”

Sebastian stopped her with a kiss. “I would love to see our cabin,” he told her, a wide smile on his face.

“Oh, good. This way, then!” She took his hand again, pulling him along, leading him to the crew’s living quarters. The space was cramped, a very narrow corridor with several doors on either side, but it was well lit, and clean. Isabela had explained to her that permanent crew got private quarters, and she had given Merrill her own cabin as soon as she’d decided she would join up. “It’s not much,” Merrill said, turning shy as she led him into the small compartment. She waved her hand at the lantern hanging from the ceiling, calling forth a bit of flame to light it. “Really it’s just for sleeping and getting dressed and keeping our things, but it’s ours at least, and that’s something.”

“That it is,” Sebastian agreed, closing the door and looking around the cabin.

He seemed more curious than disappointed, Merrill was relieved to see. It really was a very small space. With both of them inside, there was barely room to turn around. Not that they really needed to. The bed took up most of the cabin, built into the wall opposite the door and running its entire length. She eyed Sebastian as he carefully dodged the lantern and then glanced at the bed. At least it should be long enough for him, if only just. Next to the door were two cabinets, also built in. One held the washstand and the water basin, cleverly designed to keep things from spilling in rough seas, and the other was intended for use as an armoire. There were drawers built in beneath the bed for more storage, and a small porthole over the bed, and that was it. There were perhaps three paces between the door and the edge of the bed.

“We’ll make it work,” Sebastian assured her, leaning forward to kiss the tip of her nose. “Besides, how much will we really be in here, while we’re learning our new trade?”

“You have a point, I suppose,” Merrill agreed with a laugh. She opened the armoire and leaned her staff inside, then turned and offered to take Sebastian’s bow and quiver. “Although,” she drawled, looking him over with a sly smile. “Hopefully we’ll be able to spend _some_ time in here together.”

Sebastian returned the look, and Merrill felt her pulse speed up. He reached up, tugging at her scarf, pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor. Then he reached for her belt, fingers sliding beneath it and tugging her closer. “It seems to me,” he said, leaning in to kiss her and then pulling back, “that we have a bit of free time right now.”

“Ooooh, we do!” She slid her fingers into his hair, stretching up to kiss him again.

Spurred by her enthusiasm, Sebastian let his other hand drop to her belt as well, nimble fingers making quick work of it. Then he moved to her pauldrons, and next her tunic. She finally released him as it fell to the floor around her feet, stepping out of it, and beginning to undo the leather wraps at her wrists while Sebastian knelt to tackle those around her legs. After that, they both worked to undo the ties on her mail. She had barely shimmied out of it, kicking it to the side to join her tunic, before she moved to begin undoing the buckles on Sebastian’s armor.

“You’ve still too much clothing on,” Sebastian murmured, tugging at her underthings.

“You’re wearing _more_ ,” she pointed out, unwilling to be distracted.

Sebastian couldn’t really argue with that, so he began helping with his own clothes. He arched an eyebrow at her when he was down to his smalls, making a deliberate show of taking them off. Merrill laughed and bounced up to kiss him again before at last shedding the her own remaining coverings. She opened up the armoire, carefully stacking Sebastian’s plate on the bottom of it, just to get it out from underfoot. “I’m sure we can find you an armor stand somewhere,” she said as she turned back.

“I’m not really worried about my _armor_ right now, Merrill,” he said. His voice was low and heated, his accent thick. It sent shivers down Merrill’s spine. She squeaked as he reached out, pulling her close again and then turning so they both fell on the bed.

She started to laugh, amused by his sudden hunger, but then his mouth was on her neck and she moaned instead. He pulled back, nipping her skin before he moved up to kiss her again. Then he traced his thumb across her lips. His hand shook, and his eyes were dark. Skin to skin, she could feel his heart racing, and she felt a thrill of triumph shoot through her, knowing she had done that to him. “I need you, my heart,” he whispered. “Please?”

“Of course, _ma vhenan_ ,” she answered, shifting her hips up, letting her legs fall open in invitation. She sighed as he entered her, reaching up for his face, bringing him to her for another kiss. He pulled back and then thrust forward again, with enough force to make her cry out. Her hands fell to his shoulders as he continued moving inside of her, nails digging into his skin as she clutched at him. She tilted her hips more, meeting his thrusts, relishing that he was not gentle with her when it came to this. He did not hold back, and she wrapped a leg around one of his thighs, urging him to go faster, harder. It did not take long before he was groaning in her ear, his thrusts slowing as he shuddered in her arms, coming apart inside of her.

She barely had time to register the loss of him as he pulled out before he was back. He kissed her deeply, tongue pushing inside her mouth as long fingers worked between her legs, stroking all of her sensitive places, already raw from his earlier efforts. She could not be expected to hold out under such attention, and in moments she was arching her back as she found her own climax, her cries swallowed up by his kiss.

Then he collapsed beside her, arms and legs wrapping around her, pulling her close. He placed a gentle kiss on her neck and then nestled his head on her shoulder. She reached up to stroke his arm, her fingers tracing invisible patterns as they both caught their breath. “Maker, but this feels _right_ ,” he breathed. “I haven’t felt this comfortable in _years_.”

“Well don’t get _too_ comfortable,” Merrill teased. “I think it’s bad form to skip a dinner invitation from the captain, especially on your first night as part of the crew.”

“Of course,” he laughed, shifting up on one elbow so he could look at her. He smiled, tracing the edge of her ear. She closed her eyes and sighed, enjoying the feel of his touch.

“Come on,” she said at last, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “We should probably get ourselves cleaned up a bit.”

“Hmm, maybe,” Sebastian agreed, sitting up as well and pulling her back against his chest. Creators, but he was warm. She tried not to relax into him and failed. “Perhaps,” he whispered, tongue flicking the tip of her ear, “we have a _bit_ more time before we need to get ready for dinner?”

In answer, she giggled before twisting around to kiss him again, pushing him back down to the bed. “Well, I don’t suppose Isabela will complain if we’re just a tiny bit late.”

~~~~

Merrill watched Sebastian stack his armor in the armoire after its brief cleaning. He hung his heavy jacket on a peg at the back of the cabinet as well. He came back to the bed, sitting on the edge to tug on his boots, and she smiled as the muscles in his back flexed, easy to see through the thin shirt he wore. “No armor or coat at least?” she asked, reaching up to wrap her arms around his waist, leaning against his back. It was, as always, strange to see him in anything other than the armor or his robes, but she thought he looked quite nice in just the shirt and trousers. She certainly wasn’t about to complain if he didn’t cover up any more.

“Not for tonight, no,” he answered. “They are all a bit worse for wear after today.” He was quiet for a moment and she rubbed small circles on his back. He sighed, leaning into her touch, before turning to gather her up in his arms. He cleared his throat. “They need more intensive cleaning than we’ve time for right now. Besides, armor is not very practical on a ship anyway. I should probably get used to going without, don’t you think?”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Merrill replied. She kissed his cheek and slid out of his arms, moving to pick up her own clothing. She’d managed her undergarment already, but that was it. There wasn’t much room for both of them to try to get dressed at the same time. She wrinkled her nose as she examined her tunic. It too could use a much more thorough cleaning than they had time for. “Isabela got me some clothes to wear on the ship,” she thought out loud, turning back to the armoire. “She said they’d be easier to move around in…” She slid open one of the drawers at the bottom and pulled out the garments, giving them a critical eye before pulling them on.

The pants were of a sturdy material, but not too heavy, and very soft. Even better, they were almost the same green as her tunic. They were short, too, reaching only down to the middle of her calves, and fitted but not tight. The shirt, in a pale cream color, was of a looser fit than the pants, and fell halfway down her thighs. The sleeves seemed impractical to her, long and a bit too floppy for her taste, so she rolled them up above her elbows. Used to her own more close-fitting garments, she felt a bit strange in the shirt. Picking up her discarded clothing and placing it in the drawer, she retrieved her scarf, shaking it out before tying it around her waist, in imitation of Isabela’s sash.

“What do you think?” she asked Sebastian, biting her lip. “Do I look piratey enough?”

“I think you’ll do quite nicely,” he told her, offering a warm smile and reaching out to pull her in so she stood between his knees.

She bent down and kissed him, then pulled back, snagging his hand as she did. She tugged him off the bed as she was opening the door, knowing that if they didn’t get moving now, they really would be late. Sebastian laughed and let himself be pulled along, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the corridor. They made their way toward Isabela’s cabin, and Merrill shot Sebastian a sly look as they walked. “You know,” she teased him, “you’ve no need to look reputable any more. You could let the stubble come back now. If you wanted to.” She tried to sound innocent, but it was difficult when her mind kept flashing back to memories of their first night together, and the feel of the stiff hair rubbing against sensitive skin.

“I am not sure I’ll really have any other choice,” Sebastian laughed. He shot her a smile that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she felt her face go warm.

“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“I don’t have any shaving supplies with me,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t have a full beard before we make the next port.”

She stared at him, trying to imagine his face fully covered in hair like some of the men she had seen in Kirkwall. “That could be…interesting.”

“Well,” he laughed again. “I guess we’re going to find out.”

They reached the captain’s cabin, much larger than their own, and were greeted enthusiastically by Isabela. She ushered them in to sit at the large table that took up about half of the space (the other half being occupied by by a bed that would have been rather impressive even had they not been on a ship). Fenris pulled Sebastian off to one side and the two began a quiet conversation while Merrill and Isabela spoke with Varric. Isabela was delighted to see Merrill in her new clothes, and Varric told her she looked very nice, though his brow crinkled a bit when he noticed her bare feet. “No shoes, Daisy?”

“I don’t know why you think I would start wearing shoes now,” she told him in surprise.

“I guess I always thought that those wraps gave you at least a little protection,” he said. She thought he was mostly teasing her, but there was a hint of concern in his voice.

Isabela must have heard it too, because she clapped him on the back. “Half the crew doesn’t wear shoes on deck, Varric. It’s a sailor thing. Kitten will fit right in!”

“If you say so.”

The cabin boy arrived with the food and both groups left their conversations to attend to their stomachs. The meal was nothing fancy, just a basic stew thrown together from the provisions that had been on board. “I’m sorry that dinner is so plain,” Isabela said as they were finishing up. “Usually I try to serve my guests at least a little something nicer.” She frowned at her bowl. “But while I did manage to get a full larder stocked, I hadn’t yet found a cook.”

“If you’re fully supplied, that should be easy enough to remedy,” Sebastian said, tilting his head and examining his bowl with a thoughtful expression. “Just a few of the right spices, and maybe some biscuits and cheese to augment things…” he trailed off, seeing the speculative look Isabela was giving him.

“Since when do you know so much about cooking, Choir Boy?” Varric asked in surprise.

“Sebastian is quite skilled with food,” Fenris drawled, setting his napkin on the table. “If you’ll recall, that stew he brought to Hawke’s Satinalia gathering was quite tasty.”

“Oh, and don’t forget those sweet rolls he made for Aveline’s wedding!” Merrill chimed in. “Those were delicious.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Sebastian cleared his throat. He had turned a rather endearing shade of red. He shrugged and glanced at Varric. “I have always enjoyed cooking and baking. It seemed a worthwhile skill to pursue. I was often in charge of the Chantry’s efforts to provide food for those in need.”

“Hmm.” Isabela sat forward, leaning into the table with a gleam in her eye. “You know, if you intend to stay aboard the ship, you will have to earn your keep.” She sat back again, narrowing her eyes and glancing between Merrill and Sebastian. “You _are_ intending to stay, aren’t you?”

“As long as I am welcome,” he said, inclining his head.

She clapped her hands and crowed in delight. “Excellent! Then how do you feel about taking over as cook? It won’t completely absolve you of other crew duties, but it will lessen the responsibilities some. And it sounds as if you’ve already experience cooking for large groups.”

“I’ve no objection to that,” he answered after a moment’s consideration. “In fact, I think it sounds quite pleasant.”

“Very good! Welcome to the crew!” She reached out to shake his hand and seal the agreement. Merrill grinned, delighted with the proceedings. Cooking would certainly give Sebastian something to do that he enjoyed and that would make him feel useful. Perhaps that would help to quell some of his feelings of being so lost.

“Only you, Rivaini, could end up with an escaped Tevinter slave as your first mate and an actual honest-to-Andraste prince running your galley.” Varric shook his head, then caught Merrill’s eye and winked. “Not to mention a Dalish mage for your lookout.”

Isabela laughed. It was a rich, hearty sound, and the rest of the table joined in. Even Fenris cracked a smile. “Well,” she said after she had gotten herself under control again, “I don’t do anything by half.”

“No, I guess you don’t.”

“It will be good to have you with us,” Fenris said to Sebastian.

Merrill thought he was probably right. She suspected Varric wouldn’t be staying with them past the first port, and Fenris had never been very good at making friends. He didn’t completely approve of Isabela asking Merrill to join the crew, she knew, so having Sebastian there would at least give him someone he respected and enjoyed spending time with when Isabela was busy being captain. She hoped, for Sebastian’s sake and Isabela’s, as well as her own, that she and Fenris might be able to come to some sort of accord. But it would take time. This might help that time be a little less tense.

Dinner wrapped up not long after that, and Sebastian and Merrill took a stroll around the deck to get some fresh air. Merrill pointed out the things that Isabela had shown her about the ship on her previous visits, and Sebastian in turn shared some of the terminology he knew from sailing trips he’d taken as a boy. He was a bit more familiar with ships than Merrill was, but not much, and she liked the idea of them learning the ropes together. They stopped at the stern to lean against the rail and look up at the stars. Isabela found them there and stepped up between them, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders.

“So, done pretending you aren’t mad about each other, I see.” It wasn’t too dark for Merrill to see Isabela’s broad, satisfied smile. “Tell me you’re not glad I meddled.”

“Isabela,” Merrill sighed.

“You do know that us being together happened after you ceased your efforts,” Sebastian pointed out in a strained voice.

“Of course it did. The potential for it to happen was always there.” She smirked and pinched his cheek, drawing an exasperated huff from him. “But you have to admit you two were dragging your heels until I got myself involved.”

Merrill exchanged a look with Sebastian before saying, “You know we had our reasons.”

“Oh yes, reasons. Those reasons being that you’re both stubborn and always put off going after what you want for yourselves until it’s too late. Or until you’re pushed.” Before either one of them could answer, she squeezed them in a hug and then slipped back out, grabbing one of each of their hands and placing them together. She started to walk away, pausing to glance over her shoulder and shoot Merrill a wink. “Don’t keep him up too late, Kitten, you both will need to get up early to start learning your new duties.”

Then she slipped off into the darkness, leaving Merrill and Sebastian staring after her in silence.

“There are days,” Sebastian said at last, “when I do not know whether that woman is my best friend or my worst enemy.”

“She’s a little bit of both, I think,” Merrill said with a smile. She shrugged, squeezing Sebastian’s hand. “Let her take credit for us if she wants. She was just trying to help us be happy. Which I am,” she said, leaning against his side. Privately, she couldn’t help but think Isabela was at least a little bit right. Her meddling had made it a lot harder to pretend that she didn’t have feelings for Sebastian, and she guessed the same was true for him. Would they have ever admitted it, would that first night ever have happened, if they had been able to maintain their distance? She supposed they’d never know. No point in dwelling on it now, and all things considered, she was rather pleased with the outcome.

“I’m happy too,” he said, pulling her close. He kissed the top of her head. “Shall we head to bed then? It seems tomorrow we start learning how to be pirates.”

Merrill laughed and nodded, stretching up on her toes to give him a kiss. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

**End**

****

**Commissioned art of Merrill and Sebastian by[askbroodyelf](http://askbroodyelf.tumblr.com/post/77275418518/commission-for-teadrinkingdragon-merrill-and).**


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